


Blood for Blood

by cllory



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Battle, DreamSMP - Freeform, DreamTeam, Dttwt - Freeform, I need validation, Lmanburg, Minecraft, Tension, War, dream is gonna go nuts man, dreamsmpwar, dreamwastaken - Freeform, emotion, georgenotfound - Freeform, idk what else to put, kingdom - Freeform, mcyt - Freeform, please read it, sapnap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cllory/pseuds/cllory
Summary: The New Land is wild, reckless, and dangerous, just like its people. Those who live there must battle the dangers that lurk on the land, that prowl from beyond, and who stalk in the night, and are rewarded with their lives. The rule of land is determined by the land, and of course, the supremacy of the white-faced king. Though it is a struggle, those who call the new land home build and protect their kingdom into glory--until the newcomers arrive uninvited. The invasion is not welcome to either party, and distrust grows into an explosive tension. There will be no compromise and there will be no mercy--there will only be blood.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	1. Author's Note

hello! welcome to my dream SMP fic (because I'm literally obsessed w the dt) I'm glad you decided to read!

I feel like I need to make a little disclaimer before you start to read, I don't know if anyone will ever see this or pay attention or even care, but for the plans I have for this story I want to make some things clear.

This is a fanfic. None of this is factual. I'm loosely basing it on the timeline of the SMP war and the things that happened, so I do not own the things happening, I don't own anything Minecraft, I don't own the rights to the characters because, and this is really important, they are real people. So every bit of angst or tension or potentially romance is all FAKE. I'm going to try and play up tension in a dramatic way but it does in no way reflect any real tension or relationship between the dream team, and I'm putting this out there in case there's any confusion. I love them and want to support them in every way and this idea sort of just came to me so I decided to write this!!!! 

Also, something else important, I probably will not include everyone in the SMP in this story. I only keep up with a small group of them and I feel like it would be difficult for me and readers to try and include every person in this story. SO I'm using a small few, but this does not mean I like more than the other or that they are unimportant. THEY ARE ALL IMPORTANT!!! Support their streams, YouTube channels, etc. because they all are so fun and amazing and if you have Twitch prime you know what to do ;)

Okay. I think that's it. If I missed anything feel free to tell me in the comments (if literally ANYBODY reads this) because I do not want to offend anyone or bring them down. I want this story to be fun and supportive!

SO. that's that. Thank you so so so so so so much for reading and I really hope you enjoy it!!!!! I love you and have good time reading :)


	2. PROLOGUE

In the beginning, there was nothing.

The blackness expanded and warped, and then there was something. Beneath his palms, grass grew between his fingers, caressing his arms and tickling his neck. Wind whispers past his face, sweet and fresh. He inhales deeply, becoming aware of the singing birds, the chirps.

There were memories. But the memories were murky and dark, and when he reached to grasp for them, they slipped from his awareness and back into oblivion.

Sunlight dribbles down to blanket him in warmth as he lay on the soft ground, coaxing him more and more awake. Because that’s what he had been before now, sleeping, resting and unaware of himself.

His hands contract around the grass, and he opens his eyes. The light spears his vision and he squints, lifting a hand up. He blinks, taking in the greenness of his surroundings, the thick brown trunks of oak trees, the hush of grass waving in the breeze. It is warm here, in this New World.

Slowly, he lets his hand fall, adjusting his eyes to the brightness and pushing himself up on his elbows. _This is where I am now_ , he thinks. It doesn’t take him long to settle into the new world, to relax his mind into the place, to let his shoulders fall and let go of the gloomy memories. _This is where I am_ , he says again, _and I am alone_.

He wasn’t always alone. And he shouldn’t be—this world was lush and rich with life. There was a vibrance in the air that hummed with potential. He was here for a reason, and he must call the others.

 _The others_. It was more of a general sense of something rather than a memory. A feeling of lightness, as if his chest were filled with air, a feeling of comfort and security. Yes, he should bring those here.

He braces his hands on the ground to lift him, savoring the stretch and pull of his muscles which had been still for so long.

But he freezes. In his hand, his left hand, something smooth and cold rests beneath it, radiating frigid air up his arm. His fingers twitch, his mouth going slack.

The murky memories surge. He doesn’t want to lift up the item, he doesn’t want to see it. But it was as if something else forced his hand to grip it, to pull it up in the air, to force his face to turn to it, to stare into the blank eyes.

The mask is white. He has a feeling like once, it was covered in smudges and blood, in dirt and scratches. But it was whole now as it hovered eye-to-eye in front of his face, grinning.

A prick of dread worms through the center of his chest, spreading icy fingers through him. He did not know why, or how, but the mask had followed him here, though he didn’t wish it.

Slowly, his hands turn it inwards and bring it closer. _No_ , he thinks, not ready to part with the warm sun on his face or the clarity of his vision. _No_.

But the mask is on, securing itself to his skin as if it had always been there. That white, impassive mask, that one way or another had driven him to this new world.

As soon as it was on and the straps tied behind his head, the ice dissipates. What had he been so afraid of? What was the matter? He blinks as his vision warps.

He had been thinking of the others. Yes, he had been thinking of them, and wishing them to be here with him in this new world that buzzed with life.

He stands, pulling back his shoulders. This was his new world, and he would make it his home.


	3. Chapter 3

The zombie cries out as it bursts into a pillar of flame, lifting its decayed arms in a fleshy embrace. Its open mouth moans as it burns, still shuffling forward, even though he was becoming ash.

Behind the zombie, the others grip wooden swords. The trees around them are half-chopped, leaves littering the ground. They had spent most of the previous day hacking at the wood with bare fists, quickly crafting tools from fallen branches until darkness fell, and the monsters appeared.

The sun rose now in a welcome blaze, igniting random spots across the land in spots of flame. It was a relief to watch them burn, knowing they were safe for the day. The three stood on a hill above where they each had appeared from thin air into the New World, scrambling to get the high ground to defend themselves. From the vantage point, they could see sparkling emerald forests, a blue expanse of a river, the patchwork sage and yellowish plains. Truly, the world sparkled with vitality.

“Damn,” one of them slumped against a tree, wiping the flecks of blood off his face. The dark sleeves of his shirt are pushed up around his elbows, the white band of cloth around his forehead damp with sweat.

“Tired, Sapnap?” the other says, sheathing his sword. He lifts his glasses and winks. “You’re not tired, are you Dream?”

“Oh come on now,” Dream says, grinning under his mask. “Don’t tell me you two are already done.”  
“Oh no Dream we’ve just been fighting for our lives all night,” Sapnap’s sword dangles from his hand. “Why would we be tired?”

“Weak,” Dream drags the flat side of the wooden sword over the sleeve of his shirt, staining the dark green cloth burgundy. The sword was cracked down the center from all its use that night. They needed stone, quickly. And shelter.

The zombie moans, hardly able to stand as his legs crumbled and blackened.

“Where should we go?” George hops over a boulder and onto a fallen tree, ignoring the burning monster and hacking until a piece breaks off that’s small enough for him to use.

“To your mom’s house,” Sapnap says as he chops his own wood, the burning zombie finally reducing into ashes. “Score.” He slams the piece of wood into a sharp stone he’d picked up, brandishing the crude axe.

“Congratulations, you’re a caveman,” Dream deadpans. “Want to go discover fire or something?”

Sapnap grunts and hunches over. “Me like stone. Me makes good tools kill animal eat food. Yum yum.”

“I feel like I lose braincells hearing you speak,” George crosses his arms.

“Aw, Georgie,” Sapnap grins, teeth flashing. “Want a kiss?”

Beneath his mask, Dream rolls his eyes to the sky. “We need to mine,” Dream tells them both, watching as George hurls a piece of wood at Sapnap, who laughs as it smacks him in the chest. Sapnap picks it up and tosses it back, knocking George right on his forehead. Neither can see Dream smile, but he doesn’t mind.

They appeared with him only a few moments after Dream woke up in the clearing. He concentrated on what he wanted, who he needed, and Sapnap had tumbled from oblivion right to Dream’s side, tripping over his own feet.

“Hi,” he had gasped, grabbing on to a tree trunk before he could fall. “Where are we?”

And then George had materialized with his glasses on, falling right onto his behind with the force of his arrival. “Dream!” he protested, springing up.

The three had burst into laughter at the same time. Dream couldn’t put his finger on why exactly they were laughing, but once he started he couldn’t stop. Maybe it was George’s expression when he fell on his ass, or maybe it was Sapnap’s booming laugh that set him off wheezing. Either way, they all gasped for breath for a few moments before getting a handle on themselves.

“We need wood.” George has said when he caught his breath. And like nothing happened, he had turned and started chopping, the others following. They gathered barely enough to make weapons to survive a night, but now that the sun was up and they were relatively safe, they needed supplies and shelter.

Now, George was approaching Sapnap who was stripping bark from an oak. Dream kept them in the corner of his eye as he fastened a plank of wood on top of one another to make it easier to craft tools.

George’s wooden sword poked Sapnap’s side.

“Ouch! George, what the—”

“What?” George said, dancing away. “It was a branch.”

“ _What_ ,” Sapnap mimicked the unfamiliar accent. “You hit me!”

“Did not,”

“Did to.”

“Did not!”

Dream turns fully to watch them, hands on his hips. “Guys.”

Sapnap was running full-tilt after George, his sword over his head. “ _Come here George!_ ”

“Dream! Dream! He’s going to kill me!” George half-gasped half-laughed, swerving to jump behind Dream’s back, gripping the back of his shirt. Sapnap skidded to a halt in front of the pair, grinning. His longish canines glinted in the early morning light.

“Sapnap—stop. And George—” Dream turns, but George is gone, screaming in glee as he hurtles down the slope. “Will you get food at least?” Dream hollers after him.

Sapnap reaches out to push Dream’s shoulder. “Let’s gather things okay? I don’t want to fight monsters again all night.”

“Then get your own stuff,” Dream mutters, but follows Sapnap as he picks his way down the slope after George. “We should get stone.”

“And we need food.”

“This would have been easier if you didn’t chase George away,” Dream teased.

Sapnap leapt in front of Dream, brandishing his sword. “I’ll chase you away too! Fight me!”

Dream pushes the sword out of his face. “What were you saying about needing to get stuff?”

Sapnap’s laugh echoes off the trees. “You’re just happy to have me all to yourself.”

“You’re right,” Dream thrusts his face in Sapnap’s. “Kiss?”

Sapnap puckers his lips but then bursts back into laughter, jogging off to the nearest tree and using his axe to chop it cleanly into little pieces.

“There’s sheep over here!” George’s distant voices reaches them.

“Get the wool—for beds!” Dream calls back, digging his shovel into the soft dirt. Part of him felt a little guilt about scarring the smooth greenness and breaking the soil. But--he needed stone.

“We can make beds and a shelter, just for tonight. It’ll be good to have a homebase to keep all our stuff, you know. We’ll store up—get food and stuff, then start really building,” Dream’s shovel makes a _thunk_ as it hits something solid. He wedges the shovel deeper, hoping it won’t crack in half. “George can get food, you get wood, I’ll get stone. Okay?” He grunts as the shovel shudders with the force he presses against it. “Sapnap?” he wheezes.

There’s no answer. Dream stops digging to turn. He’s completely alone in the clearing. “Sapnap!”

From far away, Sapnap’s voice comes to him. “I found a cave!”

Dream smacks his palm on his forehead. Both of those idiots had the attention span of goldfish.

“Will you find iron at least?” Dream hollers but gets no response. He only waits for a moment longer before turning back to his task, unearthing a large chunk of stone. The brief annoyance in his chest turned quickly to warmth, and Dream was only a little glad for the mask that covered his goofy smile.

He had only been alone for a few moments here, in this place he was starting to call World, but it was enough for him to shy away from the solitude. Being alone now, like this, wasn’t so bad. He could think clearly, do his work efficiently. But forever…

He shakes his head, trying to clear those lonely thoughts. He _wasn’t_ alone, now that Sapnap and George were here. And they would build together in this world, make a home for the three of them. It was destined, why else would they be here?

Dream twists the stone around a wooden handle, sharpening the edge on another stone, listening to the grind of stone on stone. He swings the axe experimentally on the tree trunk, satisfied with how deep it wedges itself. It shouldn’t be a surprise. He knew exactly where the tree was weakest, where to angle the blade so the wood would splinter, screaming, and crash to the ground.

The axe whistles through the air, slamming into the trunk again.

~

It took them nearly until sunset to build a tiny hut, scrambling to make the door right before the sun slipped below the horizon and plunged them into darkness. It wouldn’t have been too much of a problem—Sapnap had gotten enough iron for the three of them to make swords and for him to make crude helmets that only helped George when he walked right into a tree.

George had dumped an enormous sheep carcass on the floor and produced wool enough to spread out some beds, hiding Sapnap’s portion until Sap wrestled it right out of his hands.

Dream went to work building a campfire, stacking sticks and dried leaves and striking it into life with two stones, blowing gently until a tiny lick of flame grew in the center. His stomach rumbled as he waited for it to get large enough to cook over. The only thing he’d had that day was a single apple—he was ravenous.

Apparently, the others were as well, cutting into the mutton with their swords and spearing them onto long sticks as the forest became alive around them. There were two small cracks in the wall where Dream could look out and see a spider in the tree nearest to them, its red eyes glowing like the embers in the fire. A skeleton clanked around somewhere nearby, but out of sight.

“Dream, eat something.” George says, bringing Dream’s attention back to the room. He blinks and touches the side of his mask.

George is holding out a skewer for him with mutton on it. “I saw a ravine out there today. It probably has a lot of good stuff in it.”

“We need torches before we can go in,” Sapnap says. “Got any coal?”

George shakes his head, but Dream reaches into his pack to pull out some black lumps that he found by chance. “How many can you make with this?”

Sapnap rests his skewer on the stone ring around the fire to take them from Dream’s hand. “Enough.”

They lapse into silence. It had been a long day of working, mining, chopping trees. Dream’s arms ached, recalling the swing of his axe. Only George had an encounter with a monster today, a creeper that snuck up on him when he was hunting for food. George had screamed loud enough for both Dream and Sapnap to hear, then the _snick BOOM_ right after. There was still some ashy gray smudges on George’s face from the encounter.

“Want to hear a joke?” George mumbles as he twirls his skewer.

Dream props himself up against his cot, crossing his arms. “Yeah.”

“A creeper walks into a party,” George grins. “Everyone dies.”

Sapnap puts down his skewer to glare at George. “That’s your joke?”

“It’s funny!”

Dream bursts out laughing, clutching at his chest. “Oh my god,” he wheezes. “George what is wrong with you?” he chokes between laughs, barely able to breathe. _“HA_!”

George giggles. “It’s a _joke_ Dream.”

“You guys are so dumb,” Sapnap says, picking his food back up.

It takes several minutes for Dream to get himself under control, but each time he meets George’s eye he dissolves into laughter, George’s manic giggle making it harder to stay serious.

Eventually they do calm, and it’s quiet as they cook and eat their dinners. When Dream’s stomach is finally filled, the exhaustion hits him full-force and he lounges near the fire, basking in its warmth.

It crackles merrily for hours in the center of the stone floor, giving the little room a cozy, warm feeling that had Dream’s eyes fluttering closed.

Sapnap rests his head on his hand, absently twirling the second piece of mutton he’d speared, roasting it over the flames. His black hair hung in soft strands across his forehead, the white bandana abandoned to the side.

George was on Dream’s other side, humming as he pieces together some oak sticks and the smelted iron, the smoke from the furnace making his face hazy. His long legs were crossed, his knee nearly touching Dream’s. Absently, Dream touches the side of his mask, surprised to feel how cold it was, even in the heat of the fire. George catches his eye as he traces the edge of the cold surface. He drops his hand.

“So,” George says, breaking the silence. “What are we doing?”

Sapnap pokes the steak and winces. “Right now, or like, in general?”

“We’re sitting down, George,” Dream says, picking up his own meat skewer. “Are you blind?”

“That’s offensive,” George shoots back. “You know I’m colorblind.”

“Boohoo,” Sapnap says under his breath.

“I _mean_ ,” George snaps. “What are we doing _here_?”

Dream’s forehead crinkles as both Sapnap and George stare at him. “What?”

“You brought us here,” says George. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan?” Dream looks at his hands. His forearms are wrapped in the leather he had collected, bracing his palms against the friction of the weapons he used. He hadn’t even known what he was doing when he put them on, but it felt right. Just like it had felt right to call his friends here, or how it felt right to just be… _here_. This place…it was for them.

“The plan is to build,” he says, looking back up at them. “To build somewhere safe for us to be. And to explore, and to have adventures, and to _live_ ,” the fire crackles and pops. “This is out land, and our home. We can do whatever we want here. So…” he looks between them.

“Good enough for me,” Sapnap grins. “King Dream.”

Dream scoffs, but George giggles. “King Dream.”

Dream shakes his head at both of them, but his chest is full of warmth that has nothing to do with the fire. “Look,” he says, pointing out the small window. He scrambles to his feet, beckoning the others to look. “C’mere. Look.” He points again at the space, the glittering expanse of the new world they had found.

It was a land alive with silver and white, the distant river a ribbon of quicksilver, the towering oaks sparkling with moonlight. The air whistled through the trees, fresh and cool. It smelled like fresh earth and grass. Zombies moaned in the distance and the rattle of skeletons echoed, but it was too beautiful to be afraid.

Dream heard the others rise and join him, their gentle breath at his back. “Look there. Everything—everything the light is touching, is ours. We belong here, like the grass belongs in the ground, or the stars belong in the sky. We are here for a reason, and it’s to make this place our home, and to protect it. And I—” he breaks off, blinking. “If I’m going to be the leader, then you are going to be next to me,” he meets Sapnap’s eyes, and then George’s. “If I fall, then you will take my place. But until then, it’s us,” he turns back to the window. “It’s us, and our home.”

The silence is heavy, unlike the warm, comfortable silence from after dinner. This time, both of his friends are looking at him with serious eyes and frowning mouths.

“Everything the light touches,” Sapnap says finally, agreeing. “Is ours.” He looks to George.

George nods. “Everything.” As if he flipped a switch, he grins, his face lighting up. He puts his hand palm-down in between Sapnap and Dream. “Dream team!”

Sapnap slaps his hand down on George’s. “Dream team.”

Dream looks at their hands, and then their faces. He covers both of their hands with his. “Dream team. Forever.”

“Forever!” they chant back at him.

A campfire would never make Dream feel this warm, he realizes. No, the heat was at home in his chest, warming him from the inside out. It glowed softly, and it didn’t matter that the mask kept his smile hidden from his friends. They knew.

“We should go to sleep,” Sapnap withdraws his hand, laughing. “Maybe we can cuddle?”

“No,” George says immediately, turning away. “You literally stink.”

Sapnap clutches his chest. “That hurt me George. Really.”

“I don’t care.”

Dream snorts, stretching out his arms. His hand tingles from where it gripped his friends’. He cracks his neck, the white mask moving with him. He reaches up to feel its side. Still cold.

From where he sits on his little cot, George watches him. “Why don’t you take that off? To sleep?”

From the corner of his eye, Dream sees Sapnap jerk his head in their direction. “He can’t.” Sapnap interjects.

George laughs. “Of course he can. Come on.”

The silence following is heavy. George watches as Dream drops his hand, not even attempting to pull it off.

“I can’t. Really.” He says.

George blinks. “Oh.” Then, his brow furrows. “I knew that. I think. Did you always have it?”

Dream’s mind flashes back to when he woke up, his skin to the sky, nothing between him and sunlight but some air. “Yes.”

George makes a _hm_ noise before pulling off his other boot, tossing them to the base of his bed. It’s well past midnight now, with the moon rising high above their little hut.

“We need to do a lot tomorrow,” Sapnap says around a yawn. “I’m going to pass out.”

“Get rest,” Dream agrees. “You’ll need it.”

George needs no more prompting, climbing up into the white cot and falling asleep almost immediately. Dream half-smiles at his open mouth. He must have worn himself out today, gathering all that food and supplies. He deserved a good rest.

Dream climbed into his own ramshackle bed, fully clothed, with his boots on. He put his sword on the ground next to his hand to reach easily. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew this was a habit of his he had developed over a while, but he didn’t know how or why. But his mind was singing, _safe_.

His open eyes gazed at the oak ceiling. He wanted to sleep, his body was aching, but his mind was wired, keeping his eyes wide open. He lay there for long minutes, listening to George’s soft snore and the pops of the dying fire, the room darkening as the flames turned to embers.

“There are monsters nearby,” Sapnap mumbles to his left. Dream turns his head to look at him.

He was flat on his back, looking straight up like Dream. As if sensing his gaze, he turns. “Can’t sleep?”

Dream shakes his head.

“Me neither.”

There’s a brief silence. The coals of the fire glow, casting a reddish light over the walls.

“Dream,” Sapnap’s voice is quiet. “Are we really here to make a home?”

As he says it, a great surge of feeling rocks through Dream’s chest. Fear, and hope, pain— _anguish_ , rage. “Home,” he breathes. It was different when Sapnap said it—why? Because—because— _he has been with you for so many years_ , his mind whispers. _So, so many_.

“Sap,” Dream says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember before? Before we were here?”

Sapnap is quiet for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. But I remember…I remember you. And George. And then something—something bad.”

Dream gazes up at the ceiling. “Something bad,” he agrees.

The two are quiet for long minutes. Dream tries to sift through the feelings, but when he gets close to securing one, it slips away. The harder he thinks about _before_ , the less sure he was about there even being a before. It had always been him and Sapnap and George, building their home.

“I want this to be our home,” Sapnap’s voice carries through the darkness. “I can’t lose you again.”

Dream starts. “Lose me?” He turns to stare at Sapnap.

Sapnap is staring back, looking utterly confused. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“You’re not losing me. No one is losing anyone.” Dream assures, pushing himself up into sitting position. “This is _our_ home now. We’re going to make it safe.” He looks to the dark form of George, sleeping so peacefully.

“For him, too,” Sapnap says, his voice soft. He is looking at George too. “Have we known a safe place?” he wonders aloud. Dream looks at him, considering. A safe place, with all of them? He didn’t know, but something inside him said _no_.

“We need to make one. For him—so he can have a home.” Sapnap continues, his voice low.

Dream rubs his hand along his forehead. “Somewhere safe. A home. For him, and for us.”

Just as suddenly as they came, the wave of emotion trickles out of his chest and into nothingness, leaving behind that kernel of hope, a steady flame of warmth.

Sapnap goes quiet, the only noise between them is the crackle of the fire. Eventually, Dream hears Sapnap sigh deeply, turning over in his bed. His breathing becomes deeper, more even.

Even if he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t now. Dream twists, gripping his sword. He needed to wear himself out—fighting monsters would help with that.

His feet are soft on the stone floor as he slips through the dark room and out the door.

It’s not long before he comes face-to-face with skeleton, its empty eye sockets glaring into Dream’s face as it raises it bow, aiming. It’s skinless arms rattle, and Dream smiles.

The bowstring snaps and Dream whirls, dodging the arrow and bringing the sword down in a vicious strike between the skeleton’s neck and shoulder, shattering through the bone. He leaves the thing in a pile, rummaging through the bones for its bow. He slips it over his head and onto his back, stuffing the arrows into the leather strap across his chest.

The iron of his sword glows lightly in the moonlight as he slips through the trees, jumping from shadow to shadow. He catches a zombie off-guard, thrusting the blade through the back of its neck and right between its eyes. It falls in a lifeless heap and Dream is off again, leaping over the body and into darkness.

The night wraps around him like a cloak, the wind whispering past his face. His hair lifts with the breeze, tickling his cheeks. His footsteps are like tiny sighs as he walks through the forest.

It’s quiet. The stillness of the world and emptiness of it—it was a peace that shocked him. Even with the small noises of monsters and his own breathing, the World had a tranquility that struck him deep within his heart.

Dream’s feet carry him through the trees right up to a break in the forest, a thin lip of stone jutting out over a steep slope. The group cuts off in a harsh line, flattening out hundreds of feet below into a vast grassy plain. Dream’s breath catches as the rising moon greets him, fat and silver, rising above the horizon.

_Everything the light touches_ , he thinks. It was his. All of it. Every bit of grass, every murderous monster, every speck of dirt. It was for him and his friends.

He throws open his arms as if to embrace the entirety of it. It was a gift, to share the world with two others and some monsters. Dream was thankful for that, because he knew then, no one would ever take it away, no matter how hard they tried.


	4. Chapter 4

In the beginning, there was nothing.

He is aware he is lying on his back, with grass beneath him. The earth is soft, and his trembling fingers stretch further, relishing the solidness of the ground. He is safe.

Tommy opens his eyes. The sky is a painfully clear blue, so crystal that it seems almost white. Birds flutter in the treetops above him, singing softly into the warm air. Where was he? Everything is so still, so peaceful. It’s as if someone’s giant hand had clasped the world in its palm, coaxing it to a stop.

He pushes himself up on his elbows. This place was new. Tommy didn’t know this world.

Slowly, he stands, turning in a circle. He only sees trees. He’s alone.

He hadn’t always been alone, had he?

“No,” he says to himself, startingly loud in the forest. “Where are they?”

 _They?_ He repeats in his head. _Who are they?_

A fat bee buzzes somewhere in the distance, and Tommy’s heart thumps. He had to find them. He knew who—his friends. His family.

He starts off in the direction of the bee, pushing through branches. If he was in this new place, it was for a reason.


	5. Chapter 5

“Look! I _told_ you there were others here! Come here, look—it’s George and Sapnap, and—” the voice cuts off to gasp. “Dream!”

Dream’s sword is in his hand in an instant, and he’s on his feet in another second. He swings in a wide arc, forcing his sleepy eyes to open. He stumbles as he shakes his head, steadying his feet on the ground.

“What? What’s happening?” Sapnap groans from his side, struggling to sit up.

“Dream! Don’t stab me! It’s me, it’s me!”

Dream sways on his feet, squinting. The person in front of him is cowering, shielding their dark face from Dream’s sword. Their hood falls back, bright white eyes staring at Dream from below a thatch of black hair.

“Bad?” Dream’s sword tip plummets to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

The dark figure lowers their arms, blinking their glowing eyes. “Holy muffin, I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Bad?” George says sleepily, struggling to sit up. “It’s too early for shouting.”  
“How’d you get here?” Dream prompted, sheathing his sword. “Sorry for trying to stab you.”

Badboyhalo straightens up and smiles. “It’s okay. I’m so glad to see you guys! I woke up out there somewhere with the others, and we were just wandering around until I saw smoke and I was like oh my gosh! Other people! And then I found you!”

Sapnap yawns loudly, rumpling his hair with his hand. “You just woke up here?”

Bad nods. “Yep. Right over there.” He points outside the oak walls.

Dream lets himself sit back down. Bad just _appeared_? Dream hadn’t called him—not consciously. He rubs his hand over his forehead where the mask didn’t cover. He _knew_ Bad. But how? Trying to reach for the memories have him a headache.

“What others?” George says, pulling on his boots. His hair sticks straight up from his head like a mohawk.

“Oh, Ponk and Alyssa. They were with me when I woke up.” Bad backs up to poke his head out the door. “Guys, come here! They’re in here!”

George, Sapnap and Dream exchange a look. There were _two_ others besides Bad? Why?

Two people appear outside the door behind bad, one tall and masked like Dream, but his brown eyes were peeking from the red and orange covering. The other was a girl, with long, light hair. The two blinked at Dream’s mask, George’s blank stare.

“This is weird.” Sapnap whispers loudly.

“It’s not,” Bad protests. “We’re all together! Strength in numbers, right?”

There’s a split second of silence.

“If you say so,” Sapnap mutters, bending over to pick up the white strip of cloth by his bed, wrapping it around his forehead and tying it tightly.

“Ponk, Alyssa, this is Dream, George, and Sapnap,” Bad points to each person. “They’re my friends.”

Alyssa raises her hand. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” Ponk nods along with her.

“Hi,” Dream says, chewing the inside of his cheek. Three others is fine. It is fine—Bad was an ally, a friend. And if the two were Bad’s friends, then it was _fine_.

Bad looks between the two groups, his dark face alight with a smile. “Yay! Okay, are we going to build a base for all of us, or what? I have stone.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” George’s neck pops as he cracks it and stands, lifting his arms over his head and stretching. “I could make a farm or something, for food.”

Dream runs a hand through his hair. A base. It _was_ a good idea, especially if there were going to be more people than him and his friends. Somewhere for them to meet and to store supplies. His mind runs back over the first night, where the three of them spent their entire night fighting off monsters. It would probably be helpful for more fighters too, if they didn’t want to get killed in the next week.

“Yeah? What do you guys think?” Bad turns to the pair at the door. Alyssa and Ponk look at one another.

“I could gather wood,” Alyssa suggests. “Ponk?”

Ponk is nodding. “I’ll get sand, for some windows.”

Bad claps his hands together. “Perfect! Right, Dream?” he turns to Dream.

Dream runs his eyes over Ponk and Alyssa again, his masked vision making their figures ripple like water. “Fine. A base, and we can build our houses around it. If we stick together, we’ll be safer.”

Bad smiles. “Exactly! Okay, let’s go. I know a good spot—it’s right by the river. There are sheep and stuff, and oh—George, there’s a ton of good spots for a farm or something. And there’s a ravine nearby where we can mine, maybe make some armor. Do you guys have food yet?”

Bad chatters all the way out the door and through the forest, his voice fading as he walks. “Come on!” he calls over his shoulder, Ponk and Alyssa trailing him.

George yawns again and shrugs. “That was easy.”

Sapnap picks up his sword and an axe, strapping the axe to his back and flipping the sword in his hand. “What was?”

George grins. “Making them agree to build a base for us.”

Dream bursts out laughing.

“Wo-ow George,” Sapnap draws out the word. “You’re so sneaky.”

“I’m just the smartest,” George slips his glasses on his head. “You’re welcome by the way.”

Dream shakes his head. “So we have minions now?”

“Pretty much.”

Sapnap moves to the fire and stomps out a few embers, sending ash spiraling into the air. “What about this place?”

It’s tiny, barely able to house all of them comfortably. Dream, being the tallest, was slouched over so his head wouldn’t knock against the ceiling. But it was their first home.

“Let’s just leave it like this,” he says quickly. “We know it’s here if we ever need a meeting place.”

Sapnap shoulders his way through the open door. “Very mysterious, Dream.”

The other two follow Sapnap out into the morning light, the bottom of Dream’s boots dampening from the dew. Some yards away, a skeleton leers at them from beneath a heavy oak branch.

“I’m just saying,” Dream continues as they make their way down the slope after the shrinking figures of Bad, Ponk and Alyssa, “I thought it was just us three here. And now them? Who else is going to show up? We don’t know. So we might as well have a secondary location to meet.”

“Dream’s scared of Badboyhalo,” George laughs.

“Aw, big boy Dream is nervous,” Sapnap adds, flashing a grin in Dream’s direction.

Dream sighs, pulling his bow from across his back and stringing up an arrow, pointing it right in front of George’s ear. He lets the arrow fly, the bowstring snapping.

George screams as the arrow whizzes by his head and leaps out of the way. The creeper that had been lurking right behind him took the arrow full in the face, hissing weakly before it fell to the ground.

Sapnap pointed accusingly at Dream. “Show off!”

“Oh please,” he swings the bow back over his shoulder, stomping over to where George was laying on the ground, panting. He offers his hand, pulling his friend back up to his feet. “All I’m saying is that World isn’t as empty as I thought. I don’t know how that’s going to play out.”

“It’s just Bad,” Sapnap counters. “He’s our friend.”

“Your mother’s friend,” George says back.

Dream continues walking down the slope, jumping from one boulder to another, scanning the flat plain that Bad was leading them to. Already, he and Ponk were heaving stones into place while Alyssa herded together some stray sheep, penning them together with some sticks. It was a decent enough place to build a base, with the hills surrounding it and fresh water running through. There were plenty of trees, and George and Bad both mentioned a nearby ravine. 

When they make it to the others, Bad is brandishing an arrow like a baton. “I’ll put a table there, for meetings and stuff, and then a staircase in the back that will lead to beds for all of us. We’ll need a lot of chests too for storage.” He looks over his shoulder at Dream. “What do you think?”

Ponk and Alyssa turned to look at him. So did George and Sapnap. “What, me?”

Bad laughs. “Yes, you. Muffinhead.”

Dream blinks. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Bad nods, and then looks past Dream to where they had all come. “Oh, look. There’s someone else coming!”

Dream turns, shocked. _More_? How was that possible?

In the distance, two others were struggling down the steep side of the slope. Dream can see the little bit of rock jutting from the side where he stood last night, laying claim to the land below. Somewhere deep in his belly, a little fragment of annoyance took root. Who were these other people coming to his land?

Sapnap appears at Dream’s side. “Is that Callahan?”

Dream squints. The person—no, the deer?—had two sticks poking out the side of his head, followed by another person who nearly blended into the greenery around him, looking oddly like a creeper.

“More help for the base,” George’s voice says from behind him. “I guess.”

_He’s right_ , Dream thinks to himself. _There’s nothing wrong with a few more people joining._ But the little splinter in his belly writhes.

“It’s Sam!” Bad says after wedging wood planks over the cobblestone base. He lifts a hand to wave.

“Sam’s good with redstone,” Sapnap mentions, still hovering at Dream’s side. They exchange a silent look.

Ponk, Alyssa and Bad already set the groundwork for the base, a thick square of cobblestone waist-height. Alyssa had secured the sheep pen, some of them bleating as they tried to wander past the sticks. George had been right—it was helpful to have others do the work. If just them three had tried, it would have taken days.

There’s a shout of greeting as the newcomers reach them.

“Ugh,” Sapnap says. “We have to go meet more people.”

“They won’t want to meet you,” George says. “You smell so bad they’ll run away.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the way I smell, George?”

“I’m not.”

“You keep mentioning it.”

“You do,” Dream interjects. “Like, every five minutes.” He watches as the deer/man claps Bad on the shoulder and then look to his group, hanging back.

“Only because he stinks.”

“I honestly think George is in love with me,” Sapnap is saying. “All he does is talk about me.”

“In your dreams, Sapitus Napitus.”

Bad turns to point at the three of them. “Dream! Come here!”

“Don’t worry Gogy,” Sapnap says as they make their way over. “I would never leave you for them.”

“I wish you would.”

“Hey,” Dream speaks over his friends. He nods at the two, staring at the creeper-like person, who Sapnap named as Sam. His downturned mouth and black eyes stared back at Dream but his voice was warm when he said “Hi!”

Alyssa was standing close to Callahan, the deer. Dream thought the antlers were a bit much, but he had the vague notion he already knew Callahan at some point, so he smiled.

A moment later, he remembers that his mask is covering his face, and drops the grin. Both of them flicker in the mask-vision as they shift.

“We’re working on a base right now,” Bad begins. “Is there anyone else you guys saw? Do you need food?” he pulls a loaf of bread from his pack.

Callahan takes it. “Has anyone started farming yet?”

“Not yet,” Sapnap says. “What are you thinking?”

“Wheat, probably. If you guys have sheep we’ll need extra too.”

“We could gather chickens too,” Alyssa points out. “With the seeds.”

The little group dissolves into chatter about plans. George and Dream stay silent, Dream watching through the mask as the newcomers begin to meld with the others. There’s a natural harmony that settles over the group, soothing the irritant that still turns in Dream’s gut.

George leans over to speak in Dream’s ear. “I’m bored.”

A tiny laugh escapes him. “We’re watching the birth of a kingdom here, George.”

“That was yesterday,” George grumbles. “These are just the peasants.”

“Shut up,” Dream says through his smile.

“Okay!” Bad chirps, breaking through George and Dream’s side conversation. “I think that’s a good place to start. Dream?”

“What?” he says, startled.

“Is there anything else we should be doing?”

Callahan and Sam look to him. “Oh, is this place yours?”

It’s spoken so casually, but Dream is struck by the weight of the words, and the rightness in the feeling when he answers, “Yes, it’s mine.”

Sapnap smiles, his dark eyes flashing. “Dream’s kingdom.”

A little laugh ripples through the group, but Bad is eyeing Sapnap with apprehension.

“No,” Dream finally says. “Nothing else. We can clear this area and keep it lit to keep the monsters away and build the base.”

A few nod, and Alyssa and Callahan split off to presumably do what Dream said. Bad pulls Ponk back to the base, leaving Sam, Sapnap and George with Dream.

“Are we all supposed to live in the big house?” Sam says, his greenish body half-blended in the tall grass.

Dream lifts a shoulder. “You can if you want, I guess. Or you could make your own place.”

Sam taps his chin with his finger. “Hm.”

“I’m gonna make my house somewhere else,” Sapnap announces. “George wants to live with me.”

“Sapnap I’ll literally stab you.”

Dream’s mouth quirks up. “I’m going to go scout the rest of the land,” he starts to back away. “Okay?”

“I’m coming,” George says quickly, hurrying after him. “Let’s go before Sapnap follows.”

“Not quick enough!” Sapnap shouts, charging after George. He leaps high in the air, wrapping his arms around George’s neck and his legs around his middle, latching tightly onto him.

“Get _off_ Sapnap,” George says between laughs, staggering a few feet past Dream and out into the plain.

The two bicker as they make their way across the grass, slipping back into the forest. The trees close around them like a blanket, muffling their voices. Dream feels his shoulders relax a fraction when they’re shielded, his hand falling from the hilt of his sword. He makes note of the birch trees and fallen sticks, a stray feather from a wandering chicken, the smooth rise and fall of the earth.

He kicks a pebble with the toe of his boot, his forehead crinkling underneath his mask. Somwhere ahead of him, Sapnap flicks his flint and steel, the rhythmic _click click_ bouncing off the trees.

Where had Callahan and Sam come from? Where had _Bad_ come from? Dream knew he had called George and Sapnap, but the others were a mystery to him. It was unsettling to think that the world he had thought so empty was filling up with strangers who, even as he thought it, weren’t really strangers.

“So,” George says, catching Dream’s attention. With a start, Dream stops, staring at the yawning split in the earth. He toes the edge, looking down the steep drop. Far, far below them, the ravine sparkled with unmined ores and a fleck of bright red lava.

He crouches, reaching out with a hand to swing himself down the side of the cliff. “So what?”

“When were you going to tell us you invited more people?”

Dream finds a foothold with his boot, lowering himself further. “I didn’t invite them,” he grunted.

“Then who did?” Sapnap says, sitting himself down on the lip of the ravine. “It wasn’t me.”

Pebbles fall from the side of rock, raining down on Dream’s chest. “I don’t know. They just showed up.”

Silence settles over them. Dream focuses on keeping himself steady as he climbs down the side of the ravine. He passes over a block of coal, then a shimmering chunk of iron. Gritting his teeth, he reaches a hand for his pixaxe, praying that his handhold was strong enough for him to stay latched on.

“I don’t think you’re too happy about the others being here. Even though you’re pretending like you are,” Sapnap’s voice calls down. “Am I wrong?”

A spray of rock explodes from Dream’s strike. “So what? They’re here already.”

“They’re our _subjects_ , Sapnap,” George says from beside him. “Right?”

Dream swings again. His subjects?

“It is _our_ place,” Sapnap muses aloud. “Technically…yeah.”

Iron crumbles from the hole Dream makes and he catches it, stuffing the pieces into his pack.

“George is right,” he says finally. “They all know that this is our land. We just need to keep an eye on them, that’s all,” he looks up at his friends. “Especially if more show up. We’ll make it clear who’s in charge.”

Sapnap and George grin at one another.

“I have a feeling like Dream’s going to have like, three secret bases,” George giggles. “To spy on all them.”

“He’ll have seven,” Sapnap says. “And he’ll tell us he has three, and we’ll never find the others.”

Dream snorts, shaking his head. They weren’t wrong.

And though in the ravine with just the two others scheming how to establish their dominance Dream felt a modicum of peace, there was a growing pit of apprehension in his stomach that forced him to wonder if he was making a mistake by allowing the others to be here.

He touches his mask with his free hand, staring down into the ravine. His back is pressed up against the jagged stone. Cold radiates up his arm.

Dream would watch. And wait. And strike, if need be.


	6. Chapter 6

It took George two hits to bring down the cow, and three more to skin it of its speckled black coat.

“What do you need a book for, anyway?” he pants, wiping specks of blood from his sword. “Writing a memoir?”

“Maybe,” Dream slings the skin over a drying rack. It would be ready by tomorrow, the same time the slop of paper paste would be dry too. Outside his new base, one he had thrown together in the last few days, night was falling. He and George had been hunting and mining all day while Sapnap built with the newbies, the villagers, as Dream was starting to think of them.

It was odd. Still, even after the few weeks they had been here, it was odd. At least ten were now setting up their homes in the valley around the big house, carving paths between homes and between shops, decorating small patches of land with flowers or ponds or stones. Ponk had even built a lemon tree, something that didn’t occur naturally but something he was set on having, wedging oak blocks together and coaxing strange fruit from the enormous tree to everyone’s surprise. He tended to it like a mother to her children, speckling rich dirt with water and sitting beneath its branches during the day. Alyssa joined him often, building weapons or firing arrows at a target. Bad and someone new, Skeppy, often teamed together, laying stones for a foundation of a shining white home. Sapnap, George, and Dream had watched as the land flattened out and houses erupted from the ground, as campfires sparked through the valley and more and more people emerged from the woods.

From here, Dream could just barely see the sparkling of torches that were wedged in the ground, keeping monsters at bay. It was a shocking difference from the silvery, empty land he had claimed.

“Should we head back?” George says. He comes to Dream’s side, crossing his arms and looking out over the land as well.

Dream doesn’t answer for a while. He can hear the slither of spiders in the trees as the sunlight eases. Through the mask, bright specks apart from the flames move to the homes over the paths, a few of them grouped together around the largest campfire.

“I think I’ll stay here tonight,” he says finally.

George shrugs. “I’ll stay too.”

Dream, pleased, turns his back on the village and goes to the fire, settling himself down on a cobblestone slab he placed as a chair. George sits across from him on the grass, lifting his glasses and tipping his face to the sky. He wraps his arms around his knees, his iron sword resting as his feet.

As long as one of them were down with the villagers, it was fine. Sapnap, George and him all had their own spaces down there in the valley, but Dream hardly ever slept there, preferring to fight his way through the night or curl up in one of his many bases.

Beneath the mask, he smiles. Sapnap had almost gotten it right—Dream only had three secret bases as of now.

It was clear in the first days when they were all building and securing their base that the newcomers had little to no intention of usurping Dream’s claim on the land. Badboyhalo had been part of this, confirming builds and hunting teams, expeditions and mining parties with Dream all before they happened. The others, for either fear of him and his two right-hands, or for simple passivity, didn’t question this. Dream was the leader. It was confirmed, and solidified. Sapnap and George helped as well. It wasn’t an obvious declaration that they were “rulers” of sort, but one was always where the villagers were, one was always watching. If Sapnap and Dream were out hunting, George would stay behind. If George and Sap wanted to mine, Dream would watch the others. It was never spoken aloud, but they fell into this pattern after the newest four appeared.

It wasn’t just the watching. Some things were off-limits. While others shared tools and weapons and resources—if it was Dream’s, it wasn’t to be shared. Skeppy and Bad might enter each other’s’ homes without a knock, but no one would go in George, Sapnap or Dream’s home.

There had been a small incident with a chicken some days ago—the thing had wandered into the three’s company, and it being late and them being slaphappy with exhaustion, goaded Sapnap into flicking his flint and steel a little too close to it. Only in the morning had Callahan loudly protested the murder of one of her livestock, and Dream had ended Callahan’s annoyance with the raise of his hand.

“It was an accident.”

Callahan had looked like he wanted to say more, but Dream had enough. The issue was put to rest.

And of course, like now, Dream was off on his own. A lot of the time. He, Sapnap and George did not confirm their outings with the others. They appeared and re-appeared as they wished. Dream dug out tiny bunkers surrounding the valley. He stashed enchanted books in chests underground. He, George and Sapnap spoke quietly around fires deep in the forest.

But it wasn’t as if the relationship was one-sided. The very first night that Ponk, Alyssa, and the others had lay down, the swarm of monsters began. Though they had all scrabbled for weapons, Dream had slain ten monsters by the time each had felled one. Sapnap and George had been demons at his side, whirling with iron flashing and staving off the attacks from skeletons, zombies, creepers, spiders. The three had very nearly beaten off every monster by the time the sun rose, while the villagers nursed wounds.

It was in the side glances, the open mouths. The look of awe. There was a reason Dream was ruling.

Across from him, George sighs, laying flat on the ground as he gazes at the stars. Dream glances up, blinking at the tiny white spots. They flicker down at him.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t like the villagers. He did. They were fun, and the nights he spent in the little town were often full of laughter and pranks and general good feelings. When he wanted, he would give them the things he found on his outings, things they needed. Wood, stone, weapons, but also coral, gold, diamonds—things the others didn’t often get. But since the day they had appeared, and the tiny splinter of annoyance wedged itself in his skin, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of irritation.

 _Everything the light touches_ , he reminds himself, looking back at George. There was a solidity to it that even the budding village could not displace. The ghost memory of George’s hand on his, of Sapnap’s hand on both, of the promise that it was them three against all else.

“Look,” George’s voice breaks through Dream’s thoughts. “Those stars look like you.”

Dream follows his pointed finger. “What?”

“See, there are the two eyes,” his finger waves back and forth. “And under it is the smile.”

The stars all looked random to Dream. “Yeah.”

A log sighs as it’s devoured by the fire. The air whispers through their camp, smelling like rain.

“Let’s go to the Nether tomorrow,” George says after a long moment. He yawns, stretching out on the grass. “I want more blaze rods to make potions.”

“What do you need potions for?”

“I dunno. Cause I want them?”

Dream picks at his nails. “Don’t give any to the others.”

“I mean, if they’re _mine_ I’m not giving them away.”

“Seriously.”

“What, Dream? ‘Seriously’ what?”

“Just don’t give them away.”

George’s eyes close. “Why not?”

Dream looks off to the distance, thinking of the black portal he had built in secret those days ago, deep underground. “Sometimes it’s good to have something that others don’t.”

George doesn’t answer, already breathing deeply. It’s warm enough outside to sleep outside, but Dream is a little surprised at how easily George can just drop off.

Dream settles his jaw on the palm of his hand, gazing at his friend. George’s jaw is slack, his mouth half-open. His weapons are still strapped to his body. He has leather armor, half-loose on his chest and arms. If someone—some _thing_ was to approach George right now, he’d be toast.

Dream’s other hand strays to the handle of his new axe, hardened diamond on jungle wood. The diamonds were a good find, a reward after a whole day and night of mining. He had gathered a few, enough to make a sword, an axe, a pickaxe. The rest were stashed in his main home in a locked chest. It was a good thing for now that there were only a few villagers—if the diamonds were to go missing, he’d only have a few people to suspect.

He looks over at the leather drying. He had no doubt he could keep his villagers organized in his head, but if he wanted to focus fully on different things, it was best to keep a record. No one would appear without Dream noting it.

His thumb runs along the blade of his axe, his feet itching. He half-hopes that the spider in the tree closest to them will lunge. George mumbles and turns in his sleep.

Dream stands suddenly. He wouldn’t go far. No, he’d stay near George, but he couldn’t sit still for another moment. Before he steps into the treeline, he glances back to the lake, the valley that is alight with the village lanterns. It wasn’t so bad, to have all those people there in this new land.

~

Dream is dumping water onto a lava pool when the horse nudges him. His arms spin, trying to keep balance before he goes tumbling into the crimson pool.

“What the—”

“Dream!” George yells at the same time.

The morning sun shines off the horse’s brown coat as it stares at Dream. It huffs a breath out of its nose, looking completely unbothered by the fact it nearly murdered him.

“Oh my god, that horse almost killed you,” George says, hopping up to the edge of the pool. His hair is still rumpled from his sleep, his glasses perched atop his head. They’re some ways away from the camp from the night before, stranded between a desert and savanna, trying to make a Nether portal to gather blaze rods.

Dream reaches out to shove the horse away, pushing on its neck. “Get out of here.”

The horse hardly budges. Since the moment he and George crossed the line between the forest and savanna, the horse had lumbered behind them, snuffling and snorting at their backs. He’d ignored it—until it came up behind him.

“He likes you,” George takes the water bucket, heaving it upwards to the smoldering oak block that would complete the obsidian gateway. “Take him with us.”

“A horse in the Nether?” Dream scoffs, still trying to push the thing away. It pushes its velvety nose into his hand, unbothered. “Dude.”

The horse makes a very distinct horsey noise before shuffling back. It looks at Dream with wide, brown eyes.

“Why is it being so weird?” Dream absently takes out his flint and steel, flicking it in the direction of the black portal.

“You’re the horse whisperer,” George says.

“Ha,” Dream flicks the flint and steel again, and watches as the spark hits.

With a great _whoosh_ , the air around them electrifies and sizzles, as if lightning has struck the ground at their feet. It smells sweet and metallic at the same time, and Dream feels the otherworldly pull to the portal, as if something had a grasp on his soul and was tugging him gently. The shimmering veil of deep, bluish purple ripples from the bottom to the top of the obsidian, sighing gently as it spreads and goes taught between the edges. It fluctuates and bends like it’s in a breeze, gentle whispers drifting from it through the air.

George takes a bite of bread from his hand. “Let’s go,” he says around the mouthful, drawing back his shoulders and stepping froward, thrusting himself in the midst of the portal. There’s a tiny _pop_ , and George’s body fades like mist in the sun. Dream feels the effect of the magic wash over him and follows his friend.

He pauses before stepping in, looking back at the horse. “Ill be back.”

He feels kind of silly talking to the horse, but it’s looking at him with those big eyes as if it understands. Dream shakes his head and laughs quietly, stepping fully into the portal.

It feels like he’s walking through a wall of mist that smells like lilacs and metal, raising goosebumps on his skin. He clenches his hands, gritting his teeth against the shock that goes through him as he’s transported from the Overworld to the Nether, his heart slamming against his chest.

And in a second, it’s over. The mist leaves no trace on his skin, but he wipes off his arms, still feeling the tingle. Around him, the world has gone scarlet, gray, the air thick with sulfur and ash. Heat washes over him, the popping of lava punctuated by the grunts of piglins.

Dream gazes over the stretch of red netherrack, George already halfway across the flat expanse, his blue shirt a bright spot in the murky air.

He reaches over his shoulder for his bow, nocking an arrow and cracking his neck. The wheeze of a blaze reaches him and he turns, sighting along the arrow shaft, and firing true.

~

When they return to the overworld with their bags heavy with the glowing, warm blaze rods, George turns immediately south, taking off through the savanna, south, where the village is.

Dream takes a bit longer, catching his breath from the fighting they’d been doing, thinking of his soft white bed in the village. Tonight he’d sleep well—he’d put Sapnap on guard duty and he’d be able to rest.

A snort interrupts his thoughts. Dream straightens up, staring in surprise at the horse that followed him through the savanna.

“You’re still here?”

The horse paws the ground with a hoof. _Duh_ , it seems to say.

Dream approaches it, holding out a hand. The horse doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward and snuffling his palm.

Dream laughs. “I guess you listened, huh?” as an experiment, Dream walks a few paces past the horse and after George. The horse, after a moment, follows him.

“Huh,” Dream says, running a hand along the horse’s neck. “Come on, then, I guess.”

The two follow behind George, who’s slowly disappearing into the trees in the forest, presumably in the direction of the village where he has a brewing stand. The sun to the west is setting, lighting the savanna grass gold and yellow.

The horse crunches on grass as it follows Dream, never straying too far behind.

“You’re kind of a weird horse, you know,” Dream says over his shoulder. The horse shakes its mane in response. “You guys are supposed to be skittish. Not you? Come on, I’ll take you to my home.”

Dream gazes across the savanna. “Did you have a herd, you know? Like, other horses. Or are you a loner?”

The horse snorts.

“True. Sometimes its good to be alone,” Dream rests a hand on its neck as they walk. “Do horses get lonely?”

George is waiting for the pair a few feet ahead, waving them forward. “Is that horse following you still?”

Dream shrugs. “Yeah. Do you have a lead?”

“No,” George falls into step beside Dream. “I think it’s going to follow you all the way back.”

Dream bends over to pick up a fallen apple from an oak, holding it out to the horse. “What do you think, huh? Want to come back with us?”

The horse nibbles at the apple. Dream takes that as a horse version of ‘yes. Thanks.’.

“What are you going to name him?” George runs a hand along the horse’s neck, ruffling its forelock. “Spot?”

“I dunno. Does it need a name?”

They continue through the forest, pushing around leaves and jumping over streams, the horse never falling far behind. Dream smiles to himself as they approach the village, again lighting up as night fell. The big house sits in the middle of the glittering blue lake, looking cozy and warm in the darkness. A perimeter of torches ring the other buildings, cows lowing into the sunset. Dream spots Sapnap’s figure lounging with Callahan around one of the main fires, his sword balanced over his shoulders.

George and Dream pick their way through the field. Dream made a beeline for his home, wanting to stash away all they had gathered before seeing any of the others. He motions for George to do the same, the trio slinking between shadows to push through the door of Dream’s modest home. He had built it quickly a few weeks ago, on the furthest point of the oblong shape of the village. All he really needed was a bed and storage before he took off to make his other bases.

The horse pauses when George and he take turns shoving their extras in chests, sniffing the flattened grass around the base of the house.

“Name it Brick,” George laughs, dropping some stone into his chest. “Or Stick.”

“I am not naming it _Stick_ ,” Dream laughs. “Try again.”

“Salmon. Shears. Um, Saddle?”

“Why S names?” Dream holds open the door for George. The horse tries to push his head in the house.

When they’re back outside, Dream looks at the horse as it stands by its house. “Do you think it’ll just stay here?”

George laughs. “I guess so. You’ll just have to hope a skeleton doesn’t chase it off.”

Dream reaches out to pat it. “My horse isn’t a wuss.”

“He is. Like you, Dream.”

“Pfft. Sure, George.”

Dream tilts his head. “I’m naming him Spirit.”

George lifts his glasses, giving Dream a look. “That’s so cheesy, Dream.”

“I don’t care,” Dream smiles at his horse. “Stay.”

They leave him crunching on the grass as they follow the faint path to the fire in the middle of the village where Sapnap had been sitting. Benches made from wood planks and stones were scattered in a circle around the flames. Alyssa sat on one, with Sapnap, Callahan and Bad.

There’s a chorus of greetings as George and Dream step into the light. Dream lifts his hand at them, stepping back as Sapnap comes hurtling at them, throwing his arms around both him and George.

“Thank god you’re back,” he says, clutching them tightly. “I was so bored.”

“Hey!” Bad protests. “We’re great company.”

“All they want to do is build and farm,” Sapnap complains, letting Dream go when he pushes on his arm. “I want to _do_ stuff.”

“Then _you_ can be on guard duty tonight,” Dream says. “If you’re so bored.”

Sapnap sticks out his tongue. “That’s the lamest thing you’ve said.”

“Aw poor Sappy Nappy,” George says, sitting on a bench near the fire, stretching out his legs. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

“You’re the one that’s afraid of the dark, George.”

George grins. “Sapnap needs someone to hold his hand.”

Dream sits on another bench, leaning back on his elbows. He notices the improvements to the community house, the additions of shrubs around its base. Ponk’s lemon tree is larger than ever, stretching up to the sky. Skeppy and Bad’s home on its raised platform is coming along as well, startling white in the growing darkness. They’d only been gone for a day or so, but the village was really taking shape.

“Exactly,” Sapnap says to George, smiling.

“It’s not going to be me.”

“George,” Sapnap gasps, placing a hand over his heart.

“What did you guys do today?” Dream talks over his friends to Callahan and Alyssa.

“We built some of the new path,” Alyssa points to the oak planks off to the side of the fire, dug into the ground. “And I’m starting a treehouse.”

Dream nods, tracing the path through the village and where it’s raised, rising above some of the buildings.

“What were you and _George_ doing all day?” Callahan says. “You guys were gone for a while.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Dream got a horse!” George blurts right away. “And, uh, I got iron.”

Dream raises his eyebrows at George, who avoids his eyes. _Terrible liar._

“A horse?” Bad says. “Where?”

Dream jerks his head in the direction of his house. “Back there. He followed us around all day, and then back here.”

“He named it Spirit,” George giggles. “You should have seen it. Dream is like the horse whisperer, it just wouldn’t stop following him all over. I thought it was even going to follow him into—”

“--Into my house,” Dream interrupts. “Yeah.”

“Dream, are you replacing me?” Sapnap asks.

Dream laughs. “Totally. You’re out, and Spirit is in.”

The group laughs. Sapnap fake cries, burying his face in his hands before looking up and grinning.

“Have you eaten yet, Dream? George? We’re roasting some pork.” Callahan points to the skewers.

Dream takes one, thanking Callahan. They fall into quiet chatter as they eat and the moon rises, bathing them all in silver light.

When the stars are all out and the moon is nearly at its peak, Bad yawns and stretches, standing. “I think I’m going to head in. Goodnight, guys.”

The path is well lit as Bad turns away, his dark red hood pulled up over his head. No monsters have dared wander close to their fire, but as the others get up to go, Dream stops Sapnap with a hand.

“How have the last days been?”

Sapnap shrugs. “Fine. We’ve been splitting patrol duty without any arguments. They’re all just making stuff and gathering. Everything’s fine.”

George and Dream exchange a look. “We went to the Nether today.”

“Oh, sick,” Sapnap cracks a knuckle. “What’d you get?”

“Blaze rods, Ender pearls, netherwart,” George ticks the items off his fingers. “And some gold.”

“None of the others have built a portal?” Dream asks.

Sapnap frowns. “No. They’re all staying around here.”

Satisfied, Dream stands. “Good. Okay, I’m going to sleep. Sap, let me know how the night is in the morning.”

“Wait!” Sapnap protests as Dream and George begin to walk away. “You were being serious?”

Dream rubs the back of my neck. “Come on. I’m going to sleep. For real. Can’t you do it again tonight?”

Sapnap scowls. “You suck.”

George giggles. “Your mum sucks.”

When Sapnap lunges, George shrieks: “Dream!”

Dream turns away, lifting his hand. “Goodnight.”

He trudges back to his house, the bickering of Sapnap and George fading into the background, replaced by the gentle singing of crickets.

In the flickering torchlight, the horse appears dozing beside Dream’s door. Far enough from the village, Dream lets himself sigh, reaching out to brush the mane of the horse.

“Am I going to be able to sleep tonight?” he murmurs to the animal, his leather-bound hands tracing small spots on the horse’s coat. “Do I even bother?”

His hands run along the slope of Spirit’s back, marveling at the warmth it radiates. He tilts his head, considering.

Then, he touches the axe strapped to his back, checking to see he’s armed, before bracing his arms on the back of Spirit and pushing himself up. Spirit wickers in surprise, shifting on his hooves. He settles himself in the groove of his spine, gripping the mane in his fist.

Dream clenches his legs as Spirit starts to walk. “Woah.” It’s strange to rise without a saddle, but Dream feels himself moving with the horse, settling into a rhythm. He leans, pulling the mane to the left, away from the village.

“Let’s get out of here. For a little while, at least.”

Spirit turns with Dream, shifting with each pull Dream makes, responding to the slightest of touches. Dream’s heart stutters as they walk away from the village and into the eastern forest, trying to keep the goofy smile from spreading across his face.

“How about faster, huh?” he presses his legs tighter and Spirit responds immediately, breaking into a trot. Dream lurches forward, gripping his mane in both hands, his breath coming quicker. “Faster!”

Spirit breaks into a canter, his long legs devouring the ground beneath them, the forest becoming a green-and-brown blur, and then disappearing as they break past the treeline into the flat coastline. The sea sparkles at their side, a glittering black expanse. Dream whoops at the speed, feeling like he left his stomach back in the village.

They race along the shore, Spirit’s hooves pounding a beat into the soft ground. Dream leans forward, Spirit’s mane whipping around his mask in the darkness, the wind tearing at his clothes as they fly through the night.

When Spirit finally slows, panting through his nose, Dream slips off his back onto the ground, throwing his arms up to the sky. “That was _amazing!_ ” he laughs, tipping his face to the stars.

Spirit snorts in agreement, his sides heaving with the exertion. Dream laughs, reaching for him and petting his nose, pressing his forehead to the horse’s, both breathing heavily.

“Come on,” he says after a moment, turning back to the village. “We’ll walk back, okay? I’ll let you rest. Come on,” he takes a step, pleased to see that Spirit follows. “See there?” he points at the ocean. “I’ll cross that one day. And the other direction too. I’m going to see this whole world, and it’ll see me.”

He looks back at the horse. “Was that dramatic?”

Spirit nips Dream’s shoulder. “Okay,” he laughs. “You’re right. But I really do want to see it all. You and I could go see it,” he says, half to himself. “I couldn’t leave the village, I don’t think. What would happen to them if I was gone?” he kicks a stray rock. “They need someone to lead them. You know?” Spirit snorts.

Dream’s hand reaches up to brush his mask, still shocked at how cold it is against his skin. His fingers play over the smooth surface.

“You know this thing used to be half-broken?” Dream says aloud. “It had all these cuts and cracks, and I think once someone even cut it in half.” Spirit doesn’t seem to care, swinging his head back and forth as they walked. “Now I can’t even take it off.” His fingers loop beneath the edge, feeling the strange line of where his skin seemed to become one with the smooth material of the mask. They were connected, like his face was growing into the mask, or the mask was growing into _him_.

He jerks back his hand, feeling the cold that slips into his gut. “I chose that.” He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sudden melancholy. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s beneficial too. You know?” he pats his horse. “It’s going to help me be a leader. Even if I don’t really want to be a leader.”

_King Dream!_ Sapnap’s voice echoes in his head.

“King Dream,” he scoffs, biting back his smile. “And now I have a kingdom.”

He looks at his feet. The moonlight lit up the grass.

“What do you think about that?” he says under his breath, his hand still on his horse. “A kingdom?”

Spirit tosses his head and snorts. Dream looks at him, smiling. “A good thing, huh? I guess you’re right. This is my world, after all.”

They walk back to the village in a warm silence, Dream keeping his hand on Spirit’s neck. There’s a foreign feeling of sleepiness seeping into his limbs as they finally cross back into the border of the town. He doesn’t even consider going out to fight monsters in the night when he finally gets back into his house, falling onto his bed face-first.

Outside his house walls, his horse breathes softly. Dream fades into sleep, grateful that the horse decided to almost push him into lava.

~

The following morning, Dream is brushing Spirit down and murmuring to him when Sapnap approaches.

“Good morning sunshine,” Dream laughs at Sapnap’s under-eye circles.

“Shut up Dream. I’m so frickin’ tired.,” he throws himself down on the grass beside Dream and Spirit, squinting in the sunlight.

“How was last night?”

Sap shrugs. “Fine. Nothing happened. I just walked around and killed zombies.”

Dream nods, giving Spirit one last pat before turning to his friend. “What are the others up to?”

Sapnap shrugs again. “The usual. Hey, do you think I could ride him?”

Dream crosses his arms. “I thought you were tired?”

“I am. But I can nap later.” Sap stands, holding his hand out to Spirit. The horse ignores him, moving his head to pull at a tall bunch of grass, chewing slowly.

“Yeah, fine. Will you bring him back here when you’re done? I’m going to make the rounds.”

“Sure,” Sapnap says, already circling the horse, using the step at the front of Dream’s house to boost himself on Spirit’s back.

Spirit doesn’t even budge, still eating the grass. Sapnap nudges him with his heels, but the horse is much too busy eating to listen. Dream laughs at the two of them, starting off to the center of the village.

“Good luck!” he calls to his friend.

The village is busy in the morning, the livestock chattering and squawking as the sun rises, doors opening and closing, the smell of roasting meat and baking bread filling the air.

Dream paces through the main path, hands in his pockets. On the steps of the community house, Bad waves at him, his black hood pushed back. At his side, Skeppy is busy trying to get out of a boat and onto the floating path, nearly falling headfirst in when Bad takes his hand off the side.

In the center of the village is the main fire pit, now just embers, the benches all empty. Dream takes the new wood path straight north and veering off to the left, where George’s house is. Ponk’s lemon tree glows in the morning light to his right.

George’s house makes Dream snort. It’s half-built, a smushed-together square of cobblestone and wood, with a piece of the roof missing. There’s two chests on the outside of the house and Dream peeks in one. There’s a single piece of granite in it.

“Are you stealing?”

Dream blinks in surprise, turning. Half-behind one of the walls is red-masked Ponk, brown eyes smiling from above his mask.

“No,” Dream says. “Just looking. Where’s George?”

Ponk tilts his head. “He’s with Callahan and Alyssa in the community house. They’re building a library or something.”

Dream sticks his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing then?”

Ponk comes out from behind the wall. Dream can tell he’s smiling by the way his eyes are crinkling, pointing to a wood button on the side of George’s house. “I’m pranking George.”

Dream laughs. It was another thing the villagers had a tendency to do, Sapnap and Dream included, trapping each other’s houses or random places just to mess with the others. It was especially funny to think that George’s half-built house was subject to a prank.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you,” Dream chuckles, stepping away to a nearby tree and sitting at the trunk. He imagined the look on George’s face when he stepped into his house to whatever trap Ponk was doing—probably a little firework or a secret trapdoor that would drop George in the ground a few feet below.

“So you got a horse?” Ponk pulls out a handful of redstone dust from his pack.

“Yeah, he was out on the savanna to the north. There were a ton of others if you guys want some too.”

Ponk shrugs. “Maybe later. I have to make sure my tree is doing well.”

“How’s it going so far?”

“Pretty good. See how big it is?”

Dream squints as he looks at the dark tree rising up to the sky, thick round lemons hanging low from branches. “Good job, man.”

As the hours creep by, Dream and Ponk talk as he traps George’s house. Dream takes out his axe to sharpen it, lounging against the trunk of the tree. In the background, the sounds of wooden planks and others talking make the village seem busy and productive. The sun spins to the highest point in the sky, beaming down on them. Dream feels himself start to relax, something strange, the itch for isolation lessening.

It’s only a moment later when Sapnap appears in Dream’s vision, trudging up the path to George’s house.

As he gets closer, Dream’s skin tingles, and he’s on his feet in a split second.

“What’s wrong?” Dream demands when Sapnap is closer. Ponk stops fitting a pressure plate into the ground to look at them.

Sapnap’s eyes are turned to the ground, his arms crossed. He doesn’t move closer to Dream, standing a few feet away.

“I…uh…” Sapnap’s toe digs at the dirt.

Dream tightens his fist around the handle of his axe. “What? Spit it out.”

Sapnap sighs, turning his eyes up to the sky. “I was riding Spirit, okay? And I guess we got too far out, and I wasn’t really paying attention and—” he puffs out a sigh. “I didn’t see the creeper, okay? He snuck up on us. Then when it blew up Spirit kind of, I dunno, like freaked out. I got thrown off and he just,” Sapnap shrugs. “He ran off. Sorry, Dream.”

Dream’s hand goes slack. “Oh.”

Sapnap puts his hands flat on his chest. “It wasn’t my fault!”

Dream glares at him. “Dude. It totally was your fault.”

Over Sapnap’s shoulder, George and Badboyhalo are walking their way up the path. Dream is hyperaware of Ponk’s eyes on him and Sapnap.

“It’s fine. It’s fine, okay? Whatever.” Dream takes a deep breath through his nose. “There are other horses.” He balls up a fist before it can reach out to smack Sapnap over the head, taking another breath and forcing himself to lean up against the trunk of the oak. Sapnap rolls his eyes, shifting on his feet as George and Bad join their group.

“Hey guys,” Bad says. “What’s up?”

Dream turns away his face, declining to answer. Ponk shuffles away from the entrance of George’s house, hastily tucking something in a pocket. “We were just hanging out. What are you guys up to?”

George looks briefly between Sapnap and Dream before moving to his door. “I’ve got the most iron,” he says. “I’ve been mining all morning and my arms are _killing_ me. I need to put this stuff away.”

It happens very fast. Ponk sounds like he wants to say something as Bad comes up to stand by Sapnap and Dream, George reaching his door. Dream isn’t looking, but he hears the surprised gasp, the pause of silence and then feels as the ground jerks beneath them, the resounding _boom_ shattering the air.

The five of them are thrown back in the air with the force of the explosion, a flash of white and red bursting around them. Dream is knocked breathless as he hits the ground flat on his back, Bad landing right beside him with a painful _thud_.

He blinks once. Twice. Then he’s on his feet, sucking in a breath. Little flames glow around George’s house, half of the front wall reduced to ashes. Smoke billows from where George’s front door was, where the pressure plate must have exploded when George stepped on it.

“George!” Dream shouts. “George, are you okay?”

There’s a fit of coughing from the gray smoke. “Dream?” George hacks another cough.

His face swims into Dream’s vision as he struggles through the smoke. “I think I lost all my iron,” he clutches his shoulder. “Am I bleeding?”

There is in fact a patch of bright red where he grips his shirt. Dream’s vision goes white, and then red.

Dream struggles to release a breath, quickly taking stock of the others. Sapnap is struggling to his feet, his face smudged with ash. Bad is on his elbows, rubbing a spot on his shoulder. Then, further, Ponk is pushing himself onto his knees, wheezing.

His vision tunnels. Before he can think, his feet carry him to Ponk. He swings his axe side, stopping it an inch from Ponk’s throat.

“What the hell was that?”

Ponk’s eyes go wide and white, his throat pressing against the blade as he swallows. “It was an accident!”

Dream presses the blade further, feeling his face contort into a snarl. “Was it?”

“Dream!” Bad’s voice shouts form behind him. “Stop!”

Dream holds Ponk’s gaze, watching through the mask as the world fades into a grayscape. Bright spots explode and bloom around him, shimmering across the scene. The axe digs into the soft skin of Ponk’s neck.

“I—I must have put too much TNT—seriously, it was an accident—I didn’t meant to hurt anyone—”

Dream’s axe arm is pulled back and he whirls, swinging the blade in the other direction. He pulls it back a second before it cuts into Bad’s shoulder and glares.

“Dream,” Bad says, holding his hands up. He slowly crosses foot over foot, placing himself between Dream and Ponk, keeping his gaze locked with Dream’s. “It was an accident. Okay? No one is badly hurt.”

Dream’s eyes flick to the side. Sapnap is half blocking George, his sword shining in the firelight. George and Sapnap stare, but George is looking at Dream, and Sapnap is focused on Ponk.

Dream pulls back his axe, slipping it back over his shoulder in a single fluid movement.

“Okay. Are you okay?” Bad begins to lower his hands. “It was an accident.”

His vision begins to leech back to color, those bright flickers fading. Dream clenches his jaw, looking around Bad and to Ponk.

“Rebuild his house,” Dream spits between his teeth. “Keep yourselves in line.”

Before his itching hand can reach for the sword at his waist, he jerks his head at Sapnap and George, stalking past the smoldering remains of George’s house and off to the wilderness that beckoned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Thank you all so so so so so much for reading you have no idea how much it means to me to see that there are hits on this story. I literally thought it was going to flop so hard and it makes me so happy to see people are actually reading. Sorry this chapter came so late, I really want to post another within this week so hopefully that will happen!!!!  
> Also I just want to emphasize that all this is a dramatization of the SMP events and stuff and I own none of the character rights or the things they say if they are borrowed from streams and stuff, the only thing I have the rights to is my own original writing if that makes sense???? anyway thank you SO much for reading and I hope you enjoy what is to come :))))


	7. Chapter 7

The oak branches show Tommy no mercy as he stumbles through them. They snag his red shirt and scratch along his skin, nearly drawing blood.

“Oh, you fucker,” Tommy snaps, whacking away a branch. “You bitch.”

He careens through another patch, his stomach clenching with hunger, his skin burning with a hundred tiny cuts. The sky above him is painfully clear and bright like it had been for the entire week Tommy spent wandering through the forest, fending off bloodthirsty monsters with a wooden sword. He’d lurched in and out of sleep for days, only stopping to rest when his legs wouldn’t carry him any longer.

In his non-sword hand, all Tommy had to eat were a handful of red berries he’d picked from the taiga forest some days ago. He was feeling the effects of hunger on his muscles as they screamed, pulling him over another stone rise and to a flattened-off plain.

Tommy curses again, crouching to catch his breath. He’d been wandering in the forest for so long, looking for any sign of life. Something was driving him, pushing him forward, because every time he thought of settling and building a base he would just stand back up and keep walking. There were people out there—he _knew_ there were people out there.

He tosses the berries in his mouth, squinching up his face at their bitter juice They tasted like piss, really. But he needed to eat.

In the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t go on like this. Not forever. No matter how convinced he was that some part of him was on track to find other people, he wouldn’t run himself to the ground to find them.

“Fuck me,” Tommy groans, pushing himself upright. He stretches his shoulders, trying to keep them from slumping in as usual.

In his time wandering, memories came and went. They were jumbled, colorful messes of sounds and emotions all tangled. He had been a son, once. And a brother. A best friend. But now he was alone, in a forest, wondering where the hell he was going.

“This is the dumbest thing,” he says to himself. “All I see is trees.”

It’s easier to handle the gloom of the forest with his own voice bouncing around. It made him feel as though someone was speaking back to him.

“If I’m going to die,” he continues, shoving past a bush. “I can’t believe it’s going to be in the middle of some piss-poor forest with only a wooden sword.”

His feet kick up a few fallen branches. Tommy grumbles to himself as he walks, ignoring the sharp pain of hunger and scratches as the sun rises higher. The woods seemed never-ending, and when his feet finally found level ground to rest on, he slows his pace. What was the point of walking himself to death before finding anyone? He eats another berry.

The hard ground carries him forward in the direction of the sun. His worn sneakers scuff as he drags his feet, barely able to keep his sword balanced on a shoulder. “I probably smell absolutely horrible,” he says to himself. “How many days has it been? Five? Six?”

He’s so distracted by his own voice that he nearly tumbles down the stairs.

Tommy curses, catching himself before flailing over the drop. “What the fuck?”

The rough oak stairs are short, sloping over a gentle hill and leveling out into an oak path with a simply cottage in front. Tommy stops, stares, and then breaks into a grin.

“ _Nice_ ,” he says, getting his feet out from under him. He looks behind him, laughing as he realizes how long he’d been walking on the path without noticing before galloping down the stairs and to the cabin.

In front of the house, a small fencepost was crooked, a broken lead trailed in the dirt. Tommy paid it no mind, pounding on the door. “Hello? Hello? Is anyone home?”

The door shakes under his fist, but no other sound greets him. Tommy’s hunger rises viciously in his stomach. “Helloooo?”

After another few moments of silence, Tommy steps back, winded. The world has gone a little too bright, and his knees shook a little too much. The berries were a sour memory. Tommy’s tongue was drier than desert sand.

“Ah, fuck it,” he says, reaching for the doorhandle. It opens without complaint, revealing a bare oak interior with a battered white cot in the corner. The room was small, hardly big enough for a single person. In the corner, a chest lay tightly shut. The other corner was piled high with leather and cloth, smelling faintly of sweat. Tommy wrinkles his nose, ignoring the stash and going right for the chest.

Tears of gratitude gather in his eyes at what greets him. Lumps of smoked steak and stringy chicken jerky, chunks of fatty fish and bright carrots. Tommy grabs handfuls at a time, stuffing his face with the food. He groans.

As he reaches for another handful of food, his hand knocks over a small pouch. He pauses at the luminous stones that tumble from the tiny package, eyes wide.

“What the,” he says around a full mouth. He picks it up, peering into the small opening. A handful of what looks like glittering rocks wink back at him. He pokes a finger in, unsure, bringing them up to his eyes and squinting.

Immediately, they catch the light, sending a spear of sunlight into his eyeball. “Fuck that!”

He glares at it, but pockets it anyway. Who knew? Maybe it was valuable. He could trade with it.

When his stomach feels full enough to burst, Tommy fills his pockets with as much as they can hold, lifting his sword again and tromping out of the house. He closes the door tightly behind him and gives it a salute. “Thanks very much, friend.”

Overwhelmed with newfound energy, he strikes out on the scattered path, finally enjoying the sun now that his body had quit aching with distant pain.

He hums to himself as he walks, hopeful after his stroke of good fortune. The villager would come back to his home a little pillaged, but he had so much excess it was hardly a crime to share.

Tommy climbs up a steep hill, pushing himself up and over the ledge, only to freeze to a halt for a second time.

Momentarily, he cannot breathe. This wasn’t a cottage, or a small village. His eyes dart over the valley. This—this was a _kingdom_.

Before him, the oak path that lead him to his lucky find became a vein that split into tiny branches, the main path diverting into a dozen others, spreading across the rip greenery of the valley. Full houses dotted the flat land like beige flowers, pens of sheep, pigs and chickens calling into the sunset. In the middle of a blue lake, a solid square house stood guard over the town, gazing over it like a watchful mother.

Tommy couldn’t believe it. His eyes bounced between the beginnings of a gray formation in the distance to a massive dark brown tree with heavy yellow lemons, across a winding stream and to the campfire pit in the middle of it all. People were here—other humans for him to be with and talk to and even—maybe—maybe that person was here, whoever he had been looking for—

Tommy’s thoughts couldn’t keep up with his feet as he raced forward, up over the hill and down the oak planks into the village. He swung his head back and forth as he entered, each breath he took like a shock to his heart. Was this really happening? After all this time?

He kept a smile plastered on his face as he passed between the first few houses, ready to greet his new neighbors with a bright grin. But as he continued to wander in, it became apparent that this town was much too quiet.

The wooden house in the lake seemed to grow taller as he took more careful steps deeper into the town.

“Hello?” Tommy calls. His voice falls flat.

A thread of disappointment winds through him. Where was everyone?

The air is smoky with fire and smells of roasting meat. Even though he’d eaten only minutes before, Tommy’s mouth waters. He follows the smell, feet stomping lightly on the planks.

It brings him past the houses and to a flat, dirt clearing. In the middle a pit was dug and filled with kindling, a cheery campfire crackling at him. A spit rested across the top, hunks of meat spitting fat into the flames. Small boulders and half-chopped logs served as seats.

Tommy didn’t hesitate, poking a slice off with his sword and cursing it’s heat as it fell into his hands. Dried meat was one thing, but fresh steak was another. He didn’t mind as it scalded his tongue.

Somewhere behind him, a branch cracks. Tommy freezes with a bit of meat dangling out of his mouth, his eyes darting around him. He was alone—the fire abandoned.

“Fuck me,” he says, pushing the mouthful in with his fingers. “I’m getting all paranoid.”

“Paranoid about what?”

Tommy leaps to his feet, waving his sword clumsily. “Who’s there?” he screeches, tripping backwards over a log and landing on his back. He chokes on the mouthful of steak, hacking and coughing until he can breathe again. Panic singes his fingers as he looks for the source of the voice.

Across the fire, on one of the boulders, a man sits with his elbows resting on his knees. Leather armbands are wrapped tightly over his forearms and hands, a chest plate of armor reflecting the orange of the fire.

Tommy stares. Instead of a face, the man had a white mask with a hastily drawn smile, black eyes staring blankly at Tommy. A deep, cold feeling settled in Tommy’s gut.

“Who’re you?” he demands, pushing himself off the ground. The man’s mask follows Tommy as he paces to the side, holding out his sword. “Well?”

They stare at one another. The hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck rise. “What, are you a mute?”

Distantly, the sound of footsteps reaches him. In his surprise, Tommy drops his sword, looking for the source.

In the growing gloom, a small cluster of people become solid as they approach the firelight. Their quiet chatter dies as they see Tommy.

He manages a nervous laugh. “Uh, hello everyone.”

They stare. He stares back.

“Thanks for dinner,” he grins. “It was delicious.”

One of them, with black hair and a white band across his head, looks between Tommy and the fire. “Dude. Did you steal our food?”

“It was all by itself when I got here!” Tommy holds up his hands. “How was I supposed to know it was yours?”

The man with the mask shifts slightly. “It’s fine. He can have some.”

“Is it fine, Dream? Because I’ve been mining all day and I’m hungry.” Bandana says, stepping around the others and walking to the fire. It seems this is some type of cue, because the group unfreezes and splits, some walking to the fire, the others coming to Tommy.

“Sam,” one says, with a face pulled down in a green frown, holding out his hand. Tommy won’t do himself the disrespect of bending his head up that high to look in the man’s eyes. He grips his hand in a firm shake.

“Tommy.”

Another steps forward with a wide smile, blank white eyes glowing faintly. “Badboyhalo,” he introduces. “And Skeppy.” He points to a blue figure. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Thanks,” Tommy says. “It’s really fucking nice not to be alone in the woods anymore. What is this place anyway?”

“Language,” Bad says mildly. Tommy frowns. “This is our home. You know, World.”

_Home?_ Tommy thinks as he shakes another hand. _This is their home?_

It’s difficult to take it all in. A moment ago, he was ready to poke a green-clad man in his fake black eye for some steak, and now he was surrounded by a dozen or so people who seemed like him, rag-tag and beat up, calling this massive village their _home_.

_Home_ , he thinks again. A blurry memory loops behind his eyes. Fire, pain. Someone’s hand gripping his. His stomach feels full of lead, and his eyes unwittingly look to the man in the mask.

He’s sitting a little removed from the fire, with Bandana and another guy with dark hair and glasses. He doesn’t eat, just staring into the flames while the others socialized. As if sensing his gaze, the mask turns up to look at Tommy.

“. . . in the forest all alone, and then we were here. We built the Community House and then our own homes, and we just went mining. It’s not so bad especially since the monsters don’t get us anymore—”

“Who’s that?” Tommy interrupts Bad, jerking his chin at the masked man.

“Oh,” Bad follows his indication. “That’s Dream. He was here first.”

“Dream?” Tommy repeats, glad there’s a fire between him and the masked man. “He’s an odd one.”

Bad laughs. “Did you get enough food?”

Tommy feels the bulge of his pockets and the leftover burn on his tongue from the steak. “I could use more.”

Bad stands, presumably to get more food. Tommy feels part of himself relax. Obviously, all these people knew each other, but since Tommy hadn’t been shish-kebabbed just yet, he figured it was fine to let his guard drop a little. Who was to say, maybe he’d spend the night in the village.

It would be a nice break to not sleep on the hard ground. And maybe, if he were with people, those he was looking for would do the same. It would make it a hell of a lot easier to find them.

Unwittingly, Tommy looks at Dream once more. He watches at Dream stands, stalking over to where Bad was cutting off portions of meat from the spit. Dream’s mask turns red as he approaches the fire, bending his head slightly as if to whisper in Bad’s ear.

Tommy sees Bad’s mouth move, but can’t make out the words. He points to Tommy, and Dream’s mask turns to him.

The cold feeling in Tommy’s stomach returns. Tommy would stay, but his house would be as far from that white-masked man as he could make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooooo all. I'm aware that I haven't posted in literally a lifetime and I apologize, I had hella issues going on so I had to deal with that, but here's a short chapter!! I hope to have more out soon and again thank you so so much for reading :)


	8. Chapter 8

The lemon tree wasn’t actually a lemon tree. Tommy figured that out within a single minute of being up close to it as Ponk explained the building process. It was actually a combined tree of dark oak and spliced jungle wood, with the giant lemons being a mixture of melons and applies painstaking spliced and grown into the wood of the tree.

He was half-listening to Ponk as he drifted around, looking for a good, flat place to lay the first piece of cobblestone. He’d spent the last two night with Badboyhalo, but Tommy could barely stand to hear him say “language” one more time. He needed some space.

“What do you think?” Ponk says.

Tommy drops the cobble. “About what?”

Ponk’s mask was red and orange, and showed his eyes, unlike Dream’s. Tommy half-wondered if a mask was part of a fashion trend around here, because there were one too many faceless men wandering around.

In the gap of his mask, Ponk’s eyes crinkle. “About my tree.”

“Oh,” Tommy nudges the cobble with the toe of his shoe. “It’s really cool, man. Really cool.”

“Thanks,” Ponk sounds disappointed.

Tommy can’t bother trying to sound any more enthusiastic. He was tapping his chin, realizing how much more cobble he needed. Time to mine.

“D’you think you could move that over a bit?” Ponk nudges the pile of cobble with his shoe.

Tommy squints at the pile, then at the tree. There’s quite a bit of distance between them. And, Ponk didn’t even live close by. Tommy purposefully chose this area along the half-finished wooden path so he could be a little further from everyone. He needed room, anyways, once everyone got here.

“Where would it go?” Tommy asks, to be polite. He wasn’t moving.

“I dunno. Further,” Ponk points to a distant green hill.

 _Aw, come on man,_ Tommy thinks. “Maybe.”

Ponk’s eyes crinkle again. “Thanks.”

He trots off, leaving Tommy with his pile of stone. It was nice, actually, to be with people after wandering so long in the woods. It took Tommy a couple days and most of Bad’s stock of food to feel more like himself, and some bandages on his scrapes from green-skinned Sam to ease the burn of his wounds.

Tommy grunts as he lifts a slab of cobblestone, laying it with a _thunk_ on the soft soil. Ponk could deal with him living close to his tree. It didn’t matter if Tommy was right next to it or a mile away, it was clear the guy had a strange possessiveness of it that kept him from thinking straight.

 _Speaking of possessiveness…_ Tommy shudders. After that first night at the bonfire, Tommy hadn’t seen Dream again. It was good. The man gave him the creeps, with his white mask. There was something about him, his quiet demeanor, the way his two friends seemed to orbit him like he was the sun and they were dual moons.

Tommy shoves another piece of cobble in a line, slowly working his way to a foundation.

It had been obvious, too, that Dream was the leader of the community. The others might pretend they were all part of some little town, but as soon as Dream had left the bonfire, the atmosphere had relaxed significantly. There were more laughs, more pranks.

He had asked Bad why.

“What do you mean?” Bad had responded, dropping his skewer.

“I mean, why’s everyone so scared of him?”

Bad laughs. “No one’s scared, Tommy. We respect him.”

“Are you his friend?” Tommy picks at his cuticles.

Bad lifts a shoulder. “Of course I am.”

“Fine, then.”

But Tommy hadn’t been convinced. Could you be friends with someone who everyone was wary of?

As the sun worked higher in the sky, Tommy had a good, solid square where he could start building a home. The stone was rough on his hands, and blisters bubbled up on his palms.

In the song of wind and trees rustling, Tommy found himself talking to the air.

“Where should I start looking if I’m going to find someone who might not even be here?” he says to the stone house. “I can’t even remember their names.”

But their faces, the people Tommy had been looking for, swam behind his eyes. The similar brown hair, a slouched cap on one, a bright smile on the other. Sparkling blue eyes that laughed, serious brown ones that squinted. His friends.

“Or my family? Do I have family?” Tommy murmurs. It was something he questioned often. None of the others in the community spoke of their time before, it had only been Here, and Now.

The history of the place was sparse. Dream had been first, had built it first. Tommy supposed that was why he seemed to hold the community in such a tight grip—but what a fucked system to rule. First come, first have? It didn’t sit right.

“I followed the bee,” Tommy gasps as he heaves a cobblestone block above his head, sliding it higher up on the growing walls. “Something about the bee was good. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just fucked in the head, right?”

It wasn’t long before the cobble was high enough above his head where he could scramble up the sides to make the roof. The sun dips lower.

Tommy half-wonders why no one had come to see his house. Where was everyone, anyways? Probably off getting supplies, or something. Though the community had a solid foundation, there wasn’t much else. Tommy hadn’t seen a single Nether portal, or an enchanting table, anything like that. The small pouch of powder Tommy had taken from the mysteriously small house was the only thing out of the ordinary he had found.

Plenty of the villagers traded with one another, scraps of leather for wheat seeds, feathers for bits of flint, arrows for axes. But the big stuff, the good stuff, was yet to make an appearance.

“Well that can be my job, right?” Tommy says to himself. He slides a plank of wood over the cobble square.

Soon enough he takes a break for food, hunting the nearby houses for a chest filled with carrots or potatoes or something. He shrugs when he pillages a nearby home. They loved to share anyway, what did it matter if he had a few carrots?

Tommy watches the sun set over the ridge that surrounds the sprawling village. A little lip above it all glows with orange and red. _That would make a good spot for sunset-watching_ , Tommy thinks to himself, distractedly chewing on his food. He hoped someone he knew would show up soon.

When he trudges back to his house, the falling night makes it hard to see. It’s annoying, he didn’t want to spend another night with Bad, so he lights a torch and sticks it into the ground so his house is illuminated. He struggles with the rest of the planks, swinging the boards wide as he flings them up on top of the square home. His arms tremble with the weight.

“You bitch,” he huffs at the heavy wood. “Just go up there.”

Tommy’s foot knocks something as he stumbles, carrying the wood. It’s the last plank, and he feels a sweep of pride when it’s placed. “Thank god.”

He ducks in the narrow opening, tossing the rest of his things into a corner, fashioning a small cot from the sticks and wool he kept from Bad.

From outside the house, he hears footsteps. He doesn’t bother poking his head out, it was probably some curious villager or another. _Too bad for them_ , he thinks. _I don’t feel like talking anymore_.

But instead of a greeting, a voice goes, “What the _hell?_ ”

Tommy lifts his head, brow furrowed. “What?” he calls. He stands, dropping the length of wool to poke his head out the door. In the darkness, he sees a little line of flickering flame outside his door.

Curious, he steps out. He curses immediately. The torch he’d used to light his home was on its side, singing the grass black and spreading little flames across the ground, nearly all the way to Ponk’s huge tree.

A figure dances around the base of the tree, stomping out the embers and cursing loudly.

Tommy hurries to the torch, picking it up and sticking the lighted end into the dirt, snuffing it soundly. He quickly presses his toe to the little embers.

“Hey man,” he calls. “Sorry about that.”

But Ponk is in front of him, breathing heavily. “What’s your problem?”

“Woah,” Tommy holds up his hands. “It was an accident.” He laughs nervously.

“It’s not funny!” Ponk shoves Tommy. “I worked for days on this tree! You almost burned it down!”

Tommy stumbles back. “But I _didn’t,_ ” he grumbles. “So can you chill out?”

“I can’t _chill out_ ,” Ponk mocks. “You almost destroyed it!”

“It was an accident,” Tommy says, exasperated. “Okay? Relax.” He turns to go, but Ponk’s hands grab his shoulders, yanking him back around.

“I don’t want you near my tree,” he growls. “Move.”

Tommy’s mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious.”

But Ponk doesn’t flinch.

“I’m not moving,” Tommy says. “You’re joking. I _just_ made my house. I’m saying right here!” It wasn’t fair—Ponk was being an overemotional idiot. Over a tree!

“I was here first.”

“So?”

“So I want you to move!”

“Well I’m not going to!”

Ponk glares at Tommy, until Tommy throws up his hands again.

“I’ll build a fucking fence if it makes you happy,” Tommy shouts. “Go run back to your tree.”

Tommy turns on his heel, fuming. He rips wood planks out from inside his home and stabs them into the dirt, making a clumsy barrier between him and the tree. It wasn’t even close to his house—the fire hadn’t even touched it!

Ponk watched him from underneath the tree’s long branches, his arms crossed.

 _Stupid_ , Tommy thinks at Ponk. _You’re a fucking idiot_. But he still puts down the fence. If Ponk wanted to fight over boundaries, he could cross Tommy’s fence. He built his house here—it was his now.

Tommy straightens up to get more wood, catching sight of a white flash in the trees above the ridge. Some of his anger goes still and cold as he puts the images together—the long limbs, the shimmering gleam of an iron axe, the white mask.

He’s tempted to give a very rude gesture that way, but settles for turning his back. Dream could watch all he wanted, Tommy wasn’t moving.

~

Dream heard the shouts even from above the valley. He had watched the tiny snake of flame slither from the careless torch to Ponk’s tree in dethatched curiosity. He didn’t know how bad it would be if Ponk’s tree actually burnt down, but from his reaction, it would be pretty bad.

It was funny. Why did he care so much about that tree?

But, as the wind whispered through Dream’s hair, a sense of unease settled over him. Tommy’s squat, ugly house was like a sore thumb among the other homes. Tommy was too, brash and loud, sticking his hands into whatever chest he could find.

Dream leans on his sword, watching as Tommy struggles to make a little fence around his house. Tommy looks up, as if sensing Dream’s gaze.

He holds his eyes, watching as the hazy stars flicker to life. Tommy looks angry, and Dream can’t help but feel a little satisfaction.

 _Good,_ he thinks. _I’m watching you, kid. Don’t forget it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another short chapter. School is starting so I'm hoping to get on a more regular schedule and post chapters every friday???? but idk my track record is pretty spotty. Also, I'm in the works making a Pinterest board for this story if you want to check it out, search @clloryy on Pinterest. I also have insta and twitter if you'd be interested in following, although idk what I'd post on there besides dttwt stuff and maybe even updates. idk. I'm rambling. Thank you for reading!!  
> Insta: cllory_  
> Twitter: cllory1


	9. Chapter 9

Tommy groans, smacking his dry lips. It was too early. But sunlight flowed in easily through the gaps in the stone walls, pulling him from the deep slumber after building his house through the night.

He becomes aware of the room, the rickety roof. Hunger follows soon after he’s opened his eyes, his hand groping through his pockets for a snack.

“Tommy!”

He sits upright, mouth full of bread. “What?” his voice is muffled.

Silence. Did he actually hear someone call his name, or was he going crazy? Tommy cocks his head, listening for another sound. In the back of his head, he imagines a too-tall figure stalking around his small house, their white face grinning. He shudders.

“I’m going crazy,” he says. “It’s probably all these idiots and their fucking trees.” He slips off the bed and stretched, his joints popping. He feels the lump of glittering stones in his pocket, digging into his hip.

Distractedly, he pulls them out, turning them over in his fingers. “Are these diamonds, then?” he asks himself. “That’s a bit of luck. I can make a sword.”

“Tommy?”

He jumps. “What the fuck?” he cries, stepping to the door. “Don’t stalk me—Jesus—I’m a big man, alright? I’ll mess you up—”

He pulls open the door, and freezes.

The first thing he thinks is— _is that a fucking fox?_ Then, he tumbles forward, throwing his arms around the other person.

“Tubbo?” he says into his shoulder, eyes wide. The boy laughs, gripping Tommy back, rocking them back and forth.

“Hello to you too,” he says, pulling away. Tommy studies his face, shocked at how familiar and foreign someone can be at the same time. Tommy knew that he had a freckle on that cheek, but how? He knew his eyes were blue, but had they been green before? Was his hair always this length, had it been longer?

He grabs Tubbo’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Thank god you’re here,” he says, ignoring the confusion, letting the joy balloon in his chest and outward. The bee—the wandering through the woods—

His fingers grip Tubbo’s shoulders tightly, as if he would disappear beneath Tommy’s hands. Something in his heart eased slightly, the empty spot flooding with warmth. He’d been walking for weeks, and now he felt like he could rest.

 _Cheesy,_ he thinks to himself, still smiling at Tubbo as his friend waved his hands around, going into great length about the river he crossed to get here.

“Where’d you come from?” Tommy interrupts. “How long have you been here?”

“I dunno, like, a day or something. Right over there,” Tubbo points at the rise that had lit up in the sunset the previous night. “I woke up all covered in grass. I kind of, like, walked around and saw this and as soon as I saw the cobble house I _knew_ you were here.” He smiles wide, looking every bit how Tommy imagined.

 _I’m so glad you found me,_ Tommy thinks. “What do you mean the cobble house?” he blurts. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Well,” Tubbo blinks at it. “It’s got a cool tree next to it. What kind is it?”

“A lemon tree.”

“A lemon tree?”

Tommy shrugs. “A guy named Ponk built it. Kind of shit, though.”

Tubbo scrunches his eyebrows. “Weird. There are other people?”

“A ton of them. We’ll go meet them soon—but there’s this one fella, his name is Bad and he hates when you fucking swear it’s the most irritating thing in the—” Tommy breaks off, finally looking back at the figure behind Tubbo, his original shock returning.

“Is that a fox-man?” Tommy finally says. “What the fuck?”

Tubbo looks over his shoulder. “Oh! Yeah, Fundy. Come here.” Tubbo reaches out, grabbing the boy’s shoulder and pulling him forward. Fundy seems to resist a bit, hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but Tommy.

Tommy makes a face. “Hello?” he says uncertainly. “Why d’you have ears like that?”

The boy’s pointed face goes beet-red, his amber eyes shifting nervously. “I don’t know.” His voice is so soft Tommy can barely hear it.

Tommy studies him, taking in the sharp cheekbones, the narrow chin. Peeking out from the mop of copper hair are two fluffy, pointed ears with black tips. He watches in horror as they flicker on their own, rotating back and forth. Fundy sees him staring and goes even redder, his pale hands clapping over the twitching ears.

“Fucking weird, man,” Tommy says.

Fundy looks down. His mouth pulls into an uncomfortable frown, his hair flopping in front of his eyes. “Weird to you,” he murmurs.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, turning back to Tubbo. “Want a tour, then?”

Tubbo looks between Tommy and Fundy. “Want to come?” he asks the fox-man, who shakes his head.

“I think I’ll look for a place to stay,” he says quickly. “Make a home.”

“Or a den,” Tommy laughs.

Fundy doesn’t smile, scurrying away from the pair and off the wooden path, into the field.

“Weird man,” Tommy says, watching him disappear into the distance. “Was he with you when you woke up?”

“Yeah,” Tubbo ruffles his own hair. “We know each other, you know? He’s a good friend.”

“I know,” Tommy agrees, though he doesn’t know why. “Come on, then. I’ll show you the town.”

“A town,” Tubbo repeats. “Who built it? Have you been here the whole time? Who else is here?”

Tommy explains his weeks in the forest, the way he stumbled around lost, looking for someone he couldn’t name. He didn’t mention that the person he was looking for was Tubbo, or that he was realizing that now, or that there was still a part of him that was yearning for someone else. He did mention the strange stones he found in the chest as they pass by Bad and Skeppy’s massive white home.

“Those are diamonds,” Tubbo says. “Someone just had a bag of diamonds laying around?”

Tommy shrugs. “I guess they didn’t care about them so much, then.”

Tubbo takes one, ogling at its clear brightness. “This could make a killer pickaxe,” he says. “How many are there?”

Tommy rummages through. “Five.”

“You can make a pick and a sword.”

Tommy considers, before thrusting the bag at Tubbo. “Two swords.”

“Two?” Tubbo looks uncertain. “For me?”

“One for you, one for me.”

Tubbo’s smile is bright as the sun. “Thanks, man!”

They round the wooden path, the gentle rush of a creek flowing beneath their feet combining with their pattering footsteps. In front of them, the community house looms, framed by wooden fences.

“What’s that?”

“The Community House,” Tommy tucks the bag back in his pocket. “It’s the base of the town.”

Tubbo hums. “Tell me about the guy.”

“What guy?”

Tubbo waves his hand over his own face. “With the mask.”

Tommy tilts his head. “You mean Dream?”

Tubbo shrugs. “White mask, creepy smile?”

“That’s him.”

“I think he’s a prick,” Tommy jumps down a step. “He’s got some issues.”

“Why?” Tubbo trips over the step Tommy jumped, just catching himself before he fell. “What did he do?”

Tommy lifts a shoulder. What had Dream done? Nothing—not to Tommy, at least. But he was speaking anyways.

“He’s got a weird way about him. He scares the other people, you know? He makes them nervous,” They approach the Community House, and Tommy’s voice lowers. “And it’s like, he’s in charge of everything. They don’t go hunting without asking, or build anything. They always have to ask him—”

They stop short as the door swings open. It’s Bandana—whose actual name is Sapnap—and George. Dream’s dual moons, as Tommy thought of them.

“Hey boys,” Tommy says, pulling Tubbo forward. “This is Tubbo.”

“Cool,” Sapnap steps around them and walks away, flicking his flint and steel.

George lingers only to smile but doesn’t seem interested either. Tommy laughs.

“I guess it’s not that interesting to have newbies anymore,” he releases Tubbo’s arm. “Those are Dream’s bodyguards.”  
“He has bodyguards?” Tubbo’s eyes are wide.

“Yeah. Them two always stick by him. They’ve all got diamond weapons and armor and everything and I’m pretty sure one of them has an enchanted sword.”

Tubbo looks around the house, blinking. “We can enchant,” Tubbo says absently. “Though _I_ can’t yet.” He rubs his palms together, churning up a little green spark. It’s quite small, floating between his hands. Not enough to name a sword, much less enchant it.

“Same,” Tommy summons his own ecksper spark, which isn’t any bit larger than Tubbo’s. They’d need to do something about that.

“We’ll get potions,” Tommy suggests. “Get that up. Then we can enchant.”

Tubbo wanders around the base of the house, admiring the sturdy walls. “I want a house,” he says.

“Next to mine,” Tommy agrees, taking a seat on the bottom of the winding staircase. “We’ll get you some stuff.” He can’t help but smile, deliriously glad the lonesomeness from the forest was a simple memory.

“What’s that?”

Tommy startles himself out of his thoughts. “What’s what?” he gets up, following Tubbo to the other side of the house.

He follows Tubbo’s pointing finger, staring at the strong stone archway over the door. Beyond the door, the entirely of the land that Tommy had made his home spread wide, buzzing with life.

But it was the words that got his attention—huge, carved words that drizzled dust, cruelly cut into the smooth gray arch.

_PAS MERDM._

“Pas Merdm?” Tubbo says. “The hell is that?”

Tommy crosses his arms. “The kingdom.” It was undeniable. The words were foreign coming from Tubbo’s mouth, a dreadful, final declaration.

“The what?”

Tommy gives him a sidelong glance. “Dream’s kingdom.”

Tubbo makes a surprised noise. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Tommy imagines Dream and his sidekicks laughing as they scarred the words into the stone, mocking the passive little villagers as they built cute homes and decorated with flowers. “Come on,” he moves past the words and through the door. “Let’s get that stuff.”

~

“Don’t be such a baby. Come here.” Sapnap lunges for George, just barely missing his arm as George darts away.

“Stop, Sapnap. It doesn’t need to be changed,” George bats away Sapnap’s reaching hands. “Get off.”

Sapnap keeps trying, one hand grasping for George’s wrist, the other holding a pile of white bandages. “Yes, it does. It’s been weeks. If you won’t change it yourself someone else has to, or you’re going to get some nasty-ass infection or like gangrene and die.”

Dream presses his thumb absently on the edge of his axe, listening to Sapnap and George bicker about his wound. It should be nearly healed, the small patch of raw skin where a chunk of stone had hit George hard enough to draw blood after Ponk’s explosion. Dream recalls the _thud_ of bodies hitting the ground, the way the ringing had screamed in his ears when he saw blood on his friend.

“Give me those,” Dream says, standing up suddenly. He grabs the bandages from Sapnap’s hand, planting himself in front of George.

“Dream,” George starts. “I really don’t need—”

“Well I really don’t care. Sit down.” He points to one of the beds in their cottage, the place they had built together the first nights in the new land.

George looks ready to argue, crossing his arms and planting his feet wide, but Dream easily holds his gaze, waiting until George lets out a frustrated breath.

“Will you be careful?” George snaps. “Sapnap always makes it worse.” He throws himself on the edge of the cot, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head, looking balefully at Sapnap.

“I’m a great doctor,” Sapnap says, cracking his knuckles. “You just don’t like tough love.”

“I like tough love from your mother.”

“Shut up.”

Dream crouches beside George, unraveling the strips of linen. He probably should have washed his hands before this. In front of his masked face, he could see the way his knuckles were slightly dark with dirt, the growing calluses on his palms from handling an axe.

“Shirt,” Dream says, motioning at George.

George sighs, reaching over to pull up his blue shirt halfway, revealing the palm-sized wound. Sapnap had been right—the bandage did need changing. It was dark, rust-red with old blood and the white linen was yellow from sweat. Against George’s pale skin it was a stark image.

“Gross,” Dream teases. “Do you ever bathe?”

George’s jaw flickers. “I have excellent hygiene.”

“He can’t swim,” Sapnap interjects. “Take a bath, he’d drown.”

“I can swim,” George protests, hissing as Dream peels away the old bandages carefully, making sure he’s as gentle as he can. He throws the dirtied bandages onto the pile of wood waiting to be lit for a fire.

“Tomorrow we’ll go to the river and make you get clean,” Dream says, mock-serious. “King’s orders.”

“Listen,” George winces as Dream presses a wet cloth to the wound, cleaning the old blood away. “Imagine this. You’re completely naked in a river and a zombie comes running at you. What do you do? Get murdered? Run around nude with a sword?” he looks at Dream, then Sapnap. “Someone will find your body _naked_.”

Sapnap bursts out laughing. “Then they’re the lucky ones.”

Dream shakes his head as he wraps the fresh bandages around George’s shoulder. Half of him burns with rage at the sight of George’s damaged skin, his fingers shaking slightly as he brushes them over the last of the bandage, securing them tightly. He should have done more than threaten Ponk.

Even though he’d listened and rebuilt George’s house, even to the point beyond what it had already been, Dream insisted George stay far away from that place, leading him to a small cave with a fire and bed that Dream used sometimes. Sapnap stayed with him often as the villagers grew and more people were able for nighttime guard duty.

Dream slept less and less, choosing to wait until his friends dropped off to slink out of the cave and perch on the lip of the valley or in the branches of a tree, watching the torches flicker in the town or slay wandering zombies, collecting the bright sparks of ecksper they left behind. Each time he summoned, his spark was larger. He made sure that there weren’t enough monsters approaching the town, only sharing the green enchanting power with Sapnap and George.

It had been beneficial—the three had an array of impressive weapons, glittering with magic. Dream favored the diamond axe he’d gained many weeks ago, shining with an inhumanly sharp edge. He’d tried it once against a thick oak trunk, watching in pleasure as it cut through the wood like a knife carving butter.

When Dream stood, George rotated his shoulder and put on his shirt, turning from Dream as if nothing happened. “We saw Tommy today with someone new.”

Dream knew that. He had seen the two boys arrive yesterday in the clearing where everyone else seemed to come from. He’s been checking up on it ever since Tommy had arrived.

 _Why?_ He had thought to himself. It wasn’t as if he could have prevented them from falling into his land without warning.

But a tiny thought slithered through his head. If Dream had been there when Tommy had first arrived…

He shakes himself. “Who is it?”

“A kid with brown hair. I don’t know his name.”

“Tubbie, I think,” Sapnap offers. “Or Tubb? I couldn’t really hear. They came into the Community House after we were done.” He and George exchange grins.

“You wrote it?” Dream asks, already moving past Tubbo and the fox-boy who had been with him. They were fine, just two names he needed to add to his book.

“Oh yeah. Big letters, right above the door. They’ll all see it.”

Finally, Dream smiles. “Good. It looks good?”

Sapnap nods. “Intimidating.”

Dream laughs. “I don’t care about that. I just want to stop calling this place World.”

“So you chose Pas Merdm? World is easier.”

Dream’s smile drops. “Well—I don’t know. I just thought it would be good.” The lie came easily. What, was he supposed to tell his friends that he had imagined the earth speaking to him in his sleep?  
He tries to push away the memory, but it comes anyway.

_It was late. The fire was hot against his side. On his left, Sapnap was warm as well, typically. He’d curled up against Dream’s arm like a cat, snoring softly. George lay with his head on Sapnap’s arm, mouth open wide. Dream was trying his best to sleep, but between the fire crackling and the chitters of skeletons, his heart was wired, ready to leap at any noise._

_He huffs, irritated. When was the last time he had slept soundly? Felt a modicum of peace?_

_“Stupid place,” he murmurs, trying to shut his eyes._

_They pop open in another second. A sigh brushes past his ear._

What the hell? _He thinks, propping himself up on an elbow. Sapnap grumbles at the movement._

_Dream looks around, the forest dark around them, glowing in the firelight. Nothing moves beyond the copse of trees, no sound._

_“Weird.” He settles back down, sliding a hand under his head. His mind spins, bouncing between the odd noise and the red-and-white shirt that was plaguing his mind, the requests of the villagers for more gold, iron, weapons, safety, food, reassurance—_

_“_ Pas _.”_

_Dream bolts upright. He was sure he heard it that time._

_Slowly, he reaches for his axe, feeling its familiar enchantment sing up his fingers and into his chest._

_“Pas,” the trees whisper._

_“Who’s there?” Dream says, loud enough to wake George and Sapnap. He readies himself to stand._

_“Pas Merdm.”_

_The voice drifts around him, sounding as if it was coming from a hundred different places. Dream whips his head around, trying to locate its source._

_“What is going on?” he demands, pushing himself up into a crouch._

_There—in the corner of his vision, a figure flickers. Dream lurches into action, swinging his axe around, abrely missing the white speck._

_He freezes, staring at the white circle. The grin is black as night as it opens, whispering, “Pas Merdm.”_

_He bolts awake. The fire is still warm. Sapnap is still at his side. Dream whips his head around, listening. But nothing speaks._

Dream blinks himself back into reality, feeling his heart stutter.

“What do you think?”

Dream blinks, shaking his head. “What?” he asks, realizing his friends are staring at him in confusion.

“We’re talking about Tommy’s ugly house,” George offers. “We want to prank it.”

“Oh,” Dream reaches for the mask, meaning to rub his forehead tiredly, but drops his hand as it feels the cold surface. “Go for it. I have a feeling like he needs to have his attitude checked.”

“Score,” Sapnap flicks his flint and steel. “I’m gonna rock that kid’s shit.”

Dream laughs, the memory of the odd night falling to the back of his mind easily. “Definitely rig with TNT.”

“Oh for sure,” Sapnap gives him a wicked grin. “He won’t even see it coming.”

~

“I heard a legend,” Tubbo is saying, struggling to keep his voice loud over the sound of their pickaxes. “That if you kill a creeper with a skeleton, you get something.”

Tommy’s arms ache with the fatigue of mining the whole day, his pack drooping under the weight of raw iron ore and cobblestone pieces. “What, like use a skeleton bone and stab a creeper?”

“No,” Tubbo huffs, dragging his pack up over his shoulder, teetering up the steps like an overgrown turtle, his pack threatening to tip him backward. He reaches the jagged wall of the cave, digging in with his crude stone pickaxe. “Like, you get the skeleton to shoot the creeper.”

“How the hell are you supposed to do that?” Tommy demands, letting his pick fall. He’s exhausted.

Tubbo wedges his pick into the wall, yanking out a chunk of reddish ore. “I dunno. Coax it with a treat or something.”

“A treat for a skeleton? Like, human flesh?”

“Could be. Never done it before.”

Tommy straps his pick to his back, bending over to lift the full pack. He grunts under its weight. “I’m done for the night. Let’s go kill a creeper.”

Tubbo looks at Tommy over his shoulder, cheeks flushed. “Huh?”

“I’m kidding, Tubbo. I just want to go sleep.”

“Right,” Tubbo struggles with the pack again, puffing noisily as he hikes it up on his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Tommy wheezes laughing, nearly getting a stitch in his side watching his friend wobble side to side under the weight of the stone.

“Did you mine the whole cave, then?” Tommy gasps, wiping his eyes. “Want some more, Tubbo? Need some extra?”

“Shut up,” Tubbo laughs. “I’m trying to be prepared.”

“No one will ever know,” Tommy laughs again. “They’ll think you’re a poor man with no stone.”

Tubbo nearly loses his feet bending over to grab a pebble, pelting it at Tommy’s head. Tommy dodges, holding up his hands.

They stumble their way up the path they carved into the cave, legs burning under their heavy packs. It’s nearly sunset when they come up from the ground, blinking in the low light.

Tommy manages to wave Tubbo forward, thinking of the spot high up on the valley where he’d seen the sun cast a golden glow over it, eager to see if it was as nice as he thought before. They struggle through trees, the beginnings of monster calls echoing in the twilight.

“Just a bit further,” Tommy puffs, beginning to recognize the trees around him.

“Where are we going? My legs hurt,” Tubbo complains. “I want to build my house.”

“Hold on a minute,” Tommy drops his pack at the base of a tree, hurrying forward, but Tubbo gives a frightened shout.

“Tommy!”

Tommy whirls, going to Tubbo, who points at Tommy, eyes wide.

“What?” Tommy yells back. “You scared me.”

Tubbo’s pack bumps against his back as he runs to Tommy. “Creeper! Behind you!”

Tommy whirls, falling back. He’s only aware then that his hands are empty. Nothing stands between him and the creeper except a couple of yards of grass.

The creature was stunted and twisted, a mockery of a humanoid shape. It’s motley green skin blended well with the forest, it’s empty sockets dripping black, its frown pulling at the corners of its lumpy face. It slinks silently in Tommy’s direction, hungry pits of eyes staring, its clawed feet dragging through the grass.

Tommy crawls back, trying to get his feet under himself. “Tubbo!” he calls. “Do something!”

As he yells, something whizzes past his ear, landing with a _thwack_ an inch from his face. Tommy screams.

“It’s a skeleton!” Tubbo is yelling. “Get it to shoot the creeper!”

“We don’t have time for legends,” Tommy bellows. “I’m going to _die!”_

He flips over, his toes digging into the soft dirt. He needed to get up, to run, to do anything but be sat on the floor like a hot meal for the monsters.

But as soon as he’s upright, he stops, stunned. Tubbo is flailing in a wild dance, waving his arms behind the creeper, who’s set on getting its way to Tommy. The skeleton shoots wide and Tubbo, bone arms clanking again and again.

“Tubbo!” Tommy shouts. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Tubbo shakes his arms, leading the skeleton closer to the creeper. “I’m helping you! Are you going to run?”

Tommy nearly laughs. “I’m not letting you get shot!”

“I won’t!” Tubbo calls, dodging an arrow with the grace of an elephant doing ballet.

“Of course you’re not,” Tommy mutters, skittering to the side, leading the creeper after him. The green monster continues steadily in his direction, eerily quiet. The skeleton rages in its strange, clattering calls, loosening arrow after arrow at Tubbo.

The two manage to converge, Tubbo the only obstacle between the creeper and the skeleton’s line of fire. Tommy feels the sun on his back and turns, choking back his heart as he realizes how very close he’s been to the edge of the cliff.

“How does it work?” he yells to Tubbo.

Tubbo is staring at the skeleton, some type of face-off happening. The creeper moves every closer. Tommy shifts nervously. “Tubbo?”

Then, Tubbo drops, an arrow splitting the air where his head had just been. Instead, the arrow sails past him and right into the skull of the creeper, knocking it flat into ashes. Tommy falls back in surprise, catching himself on his hands. From the ground, he looks at Tubbo, eyes wide.

Tubbo is looking back, hands still over his head. “Did it work?”

The skeleton rattles. Tommy lurches up, yelling Tubbo’s name as it nocks another arrow. Without drawing a breath, Tommy yanks the fallen arrow that killed the creeper into his hand and hurls it at the skeleton.

To his complete surprise, the arrowhead strikes true, splitting the chestbone of the skeleton and knocking its bow clean from its hand.

He breathes heavily, blinking in shock. His veins sing with adrenaline, his heart pumping a loud rhythm in his ears.

“That was epic,” Tubbo gasps from the ground, looking up at Tommy. “You just killed a skeleton with it’s own arrow.”

Tommy holds Tubbo’s surprised gaze for a split second before dissolving into laughter. Tommy clutches his chest, wheezing, lowering himself to his knees. Tubbo cackles with him, both of them shaking on the ground, barely able to catch their breath.

“That _was_ epic,” Tommy agrees between laughs. “I’m such a big man.”

Tubbo wipes a tear from his eye. “I can’t believe we did it.”

They laugh again before Tubbo struggles to stand, walking over to where the creeper fell. It was fully sunset now, and Tommy notices the trees around them have turned yellow and amber, glowing with the rays of the setting sun. The entire patch of grass was sunfire, glittering orange.

Tubbo stares at the spot. “No way.”

Tommy struggles to his feet. “What?” he walks over, then stops.

Between their feet is a small, round disc. It’s the oddest color—black, but not really black. Blue, but not quite. It’s threaded with silver, tiny ridges sparkling in the falling night. When Tommy reaches to pick it up, he hears a faint hum.

“It worked,” Tubbo says. “What is it?”

Tommy presses the disk to his ear, listening to the distant sound of chimes. His eyes close. "Music.”

Tubbo leans over, sharing the sounds of the disk with his friend. The sun washes warmth over both of them as they bask in the swirls of song, the world around them luminous with life.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tommy says after a time. “I’m happy to not be alone.”

“Me too,” Tubbo says. “I’m glad I found you.”

That was all Tommy needed. His friend was here with him, in this place. A sharp piece of ice in his chest begins to melt with the falling sun, leaving behind an easy fulfilment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay first of all idk how to indent consistently with this format so if anyone has any tips hmu  
> ALSO there are some sneaky new things in this chapter, especially "ecksper". I really want to incorporate parts of the game in a more fantastical sense, so I'm using the XP bar in Minecraft used for enchantments and whatnot and changing the word "experience" to "ecksper" so that's that. So like they use their "ecksper" to enchant etc etc it's super corny but you know.  
> the other part is Pas Merdm....... wink wink. lmk what you think about that.  
> as always thank you so much for reading!!!!!! I hope you enjoy


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